IT      IGHT  H 
BEEN  WORSE 


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-  ROUTE  FOLLOWED 

CAR  SHIPPED  BY 

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©  OVKR  N1OHT  ,STO 


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IT  MIGHT  HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 


IT 

MIGHT  HAVE  BEEN 
WORSE 

A  MOTOR  TRIP  FROM  COAST 
TO  COAST 


BY 
BEATRICE  LARNED   MASSEY 


SAN  FRANCISCO 
HARRWAGNER  PUBLISHING  CO. 

MCMXX 


fcl  <*.  C°Pyr*ght,  1920,  by  'Beatrice  Lamed  tMassey 


Printed  by  Taylor  &  Taylor,  San  Francisco 


3  2. 

ancroft  Ubraqr 


TO  MY  DEAR 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    THE  START  I 

II.    NEW  YORK  TO  PITTSBURGH  6 

III.  OHIO  AND  DETOURS  2O 

IV.  ON  TO  CHICAGO  30 
V.    THROUGH  THE  DAIRY  COUNTRY  39 

VI.    CLOTHES,  LUGGAGE,  AND  THE  CAR  43 

VII.    THE  TWIN  CITIES  AND  TEN  THOUSAND  LAKES     54 

VIII.    MILLIONS  OF  GRASSHOPPERS  62 

IX.    THE  BAD  LANDS "NATURE^  FREAKIEST 

MOOD"  70 

X.    THE  DUST  OF  MONTANA  77 

XI.    A  WONDERLAND  87 

XII.    WESTWARD  HO  !  1 03 

XIII.  NEVADA  AND  THE  DESERT  117 

XIV.  THE  END  OF  THE  ROAD  130 


FOREWORD 

/  state,  at  the  start,  that  this  account  of  our 
motor  trip  from  New  Tor^City  to  San  Francisco  is 
intended  to  be  not  only  a  road  map  and  a  motor  guide 
for  prospective  tourists,  but  also  to  interest  the  would- 
be  or  near  motorists  who  take  dream  trips  to  the  Pa 
cific?  It  sounds  like  a  rather  large  order,  to  motor 
across  this  vast  continent,  but  in  reality  it  is  simple, 
and  the  most  interesting  trip  I  have  ever  taken  in  our 
own  country  or  abroad. 

There  are  so  many  so-called  "highways"  to  follow, 
and  numerous  routes  which,  according  to  the  folders, 
have  "good  roads  and  first-class  accommodations  all  the 
way"  that  hundreds  of  unsuspecting  citizen*  are  tour 
ing  across  every  year.  I  can  speak  only  for  ourselves, 
and  will  doubtless  call  down  the  criticism  of  many  who 
have  taken  any  other  route.  On  the  whole,  it  has  been 
a  revelation,  and,  to  my  mind,  the  only  way  to  get  a 
first-hand  knowledge  of  our  country,  its  people,  the 
scenery,  and  last,  but  not  the  least,  its  roads  —good, 
bad,  and  infinitely  worse. 

B.  L.  M. 

San  Francisco,  January,  1920 


IT  MIGHT  HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 


IT 

MIGHT  HAVE  BEEN 
WORSE 


i 

THE  START 

jTVFTER  reading  "By  Motor  to  the  Golden 
Gate,"  by  Emily  Post,  published  in  1916,  I 
was  fired  by  a  desire  to  make  a  similar  tour. 
This  desire  grew  into  a  firm  determination 
the  more  I  re-read  her  charming  book.  Then 
the  United  States  went  into  the  war,  and  self- 
respecting  citizens  were  not  spending  months 
amusing  themselves;  so  all  thought  of  the 
trip  was  put  aside  until  the  spring  of  this 
year  (1919).  Then  the  "motor  fever"  came  on 
again,  and  refused  to  yield  to  any  sedatives 
of  advice  or  obstacles.  After  talking  and  plan 
ning  for  three  years,  we  actually  decided  to 
go  in  ten  minutes — and  in  ten  days  we  were 
off.  All  the  necessary  arrangements  were 


2  IT  MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

quickly  made ;  leasing  our  home,  storing  our 
household  goods,  closing  up  business  mat 
ters,  getting  our  equipment  and  having  the 
car  thoroughly  looked  over,  and  all  the  pleas 
ant  but  unnecessary  duties  occupied  the  last 
few  days.  Why  will  people  write  so  many  let 
ters  and  say  so  many  good-bys,  when  a  more 
or  less  efficient  mail  and  telegraph  service  cir 
cles  our  continent?  But  it  is  the  custom,  and 
all  your  friends  expect  it — like  sending  East 
er  and  Christmas  cards  by  the  hundreds.  We 
are  victims  of  a  well-prescribed  custom. 

It  is  always  of  interest  to  me  to  know  the 
make  of  car  that  a  friend  (or  stranger)  is 
driving;  so  let  me  say,  without  any  desire 
to  advertise  the  Packard,  that  we  had  a  new 
twin-six  touring  car,  of  which  I  shall  speak 
later  on.  I  believe  in  giving  just  tribute  to 
any  car  that  will  come  out  whole  and  in  ex 
cellent  condition, without  any  engine  troubles 
or  having  to  be  repaired,  after  a  trip  of  4154 
miles  over  plains  and  mountains,  through 
ditches,  ruts,  sand,  and  mud,  fording  streams 
and  two  days  of  desert-going.  And  let  me  add 
that  my  husband  and  I  drove  every  mile  of 
the  way.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  the  car  was 
not  overstrained  or  abused,  and  was  given 


THE  START  3 

every  care  on  the  trip.  In  each  large  city  the 
Packard  service  station  greased  and  oiled  the 
car,  turned  down  the  grease-cups,  examined 
the  brakes  and  steering-gear,  and  started  us 
off  in  "apple-pie"  order,  with  a  feeling  on  our 
parts  of  security  and  satisfaction. 

The  subject  of  car  equipment,  tires,  clothes, 
and  luggage  will  take  a  chapter  by  itself.  But 
let  me  say  that  we  profited  in  all  these  re 
gards  by  the  experience  and  valuable  sugges 
tions  of  Mrs.  Post  in  her  book. 

When  we  first  spoke  to  our  friends  of  mak 
ing  this  trip,  it  created  as  little  surprise  or 
comment  as  if  we  had  said,  "We  are  going  to 
tour  the  Berkshires."  The  motor  mind  has 
so  grown  and  changed  in  a  few  years.  Near 
ly  everyone  had  some  valuable  suggestion  to 
make,  but  one  only  which  we  accepted  and 
profited  by.  Every  last  friend  and  relative 
that  we  had  offered  to  go  in  some  capacity — 
private  secretaries,  chauffeurs,  valets,  maids, 
and  traveling  companions.  But  our  con 
science  smote  us  when  we  looked  at  that  ton- 
neau,  the  size  of  a  small  boat,  empty,  save 
for  our  luggage,  which,  let  me  add  with  in 
finite  pride  and  satisfaction,  was  not  on  the 
running-boards,  nor  strapped  to  the  back. 


4  IT  MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

From  the  exterior  appearance  of  the  car  we 
might  have  been  shopping  on  Fifth  Avenue. 

We  extended  an  invitation  to  two  friends 
to  accompany  us,  which  was  accepted  by  re 
turn  mail,  with  the  remark,  "Go ! — of  course, 
we  will  go !  Never  give  such  an  invitation  to 
this  family  unless  you  are  in  earnest/'  And 
so  our  genial  friends  joined  us,  and  we  picked 
them  up  at  the  Seymour  Hotel  in  New  York 
City,  at  three  o'clock,  Saturday,  July  igth, 
and  started  for  the  Forty-second-Street  ferry 
in  a  pouring  rain,  as  jolly  and  happy  a  quar 
tette  as  the  weather  would  permit.  Our 
guests  were  a  retired  physician,  whom  we 
shall  speak  of  as  the  Doctor,  and  his  charm 
ing,  somewhat  younger  wife,  who,  although 
possessing  the  perfectly  good  name  of  Helen, 
was  promptly  dubbed  "Toodles"  for  no  rea 
son  in  the  world.  These  dear  people  were  of 
the  much-traveled  type,  who  took  everything 
in  perfect  good-nature  and  were  never  at  all 
fussy  nor  disturbed  by  late  hours,  delays, 
bad  weather,  nor  any  of  the  usual  fate  of  mo 
torists,  and  they  both  added  to  the  pleasure 
of  the  trip  as  far  as  they  accompanied  us. 

It  had  rained  steadily  for  three  days  be 
fore  we  started  and  it  poured  torrents  for 


THE  START  5 

three  days  after;  but  that  was  to  be  expected, 
and  the  New  Jersey  and  Pennsylvania  roads 
were  none  the  worse,  and  the  freedom  from 
dust  was  a  boon.  We  chose  for  the  slogan  of 
our  trip,  "It  might  have  been  worse."  The 
Doctor  had  an  endless  fund  of  good  stones, 
of  two  classes,  "table  and  stable  stories/'  and 
I  regret  to  say  that  this  apt  slogan  was  taken 
from  one  of  his  choicest  stable  stories,  and 
quite  unfit  for  publication.  However,  it  did 
fit  our  party  in  its  optimism  and  cheery  at 
mosphere. 

With  a  last  look  at  the  wonderful  sky-line 
of  the  city,  and  the  hum  and  whirl  of  the 
great  throbbing  metropolis,  lessening  in  the 
swirl  of  the  Hudson  River,  we  really  were 
started;  with  our  faces  turned  to  the  setting 
sun,  and  the  vast,  wonderful  West  before  us. 


II 

NEW  YORK  TO  PITTSBURGH 

E  of  the  all-absorbing  pleasures  in  con 
templating  a  long  trip  is  to  map  out  your 
route.  You  hear  how  all  your  friends  have 
gone,  or  their  friends,  then  you  load  up  with 
maps  and  folders,  especially  those  published 
by  all  the  auto  firms  and  tire  companies,  you 
pore  over  the  Blue  Book  of  the  current  year, 
and  generally  end  by  going  the  way  you  want 
to  go,  through  the  cities  where  you  have 
friends  or  special  interests.  This  is  exactly 
what  we  did.  As  the  trip  was  to  be  taken  in 
mid-summer,  we  concluded  to  take  a  north 
ern  route  from  Chicago,  via  Milwaukee,  St. 
Paul,  Fargo,  Billings,  Yellowstone  Park,  Salt 
Lake  City,  Ogden,  Reno,  Sacramento,  to  San 
Francisco  (see  map),  and,  strange  to  relate, 
we  followed  out  the  tour  as  we  had  planned 
it.  With  the  exception  of  a  few  hot  days  in 
the  larger  cities  and  on  the  plains,  and,  of 
course,  in  the  desert,  we  justified  our  decision. 
As  I  have  stated,  we  drove  4154  miles, 
through  sixteen  states  and  the  Yellowstone 


NEW  YORK  TO  PITTSBURGH  7 

Park,  in  thirty-three  running  days,  and  the 
trip  took  just  seven  weeks  to  the  day,  includ 
ing  seventeen  days  spent  in  various  cities, 
where  we  rested  and  enjoyed  the  sights.  As 
time  was  of  no  special  object,  and  we  were 
not  attempting  to  break  any  records,  we  felt 
free  to  start  and  stop  when  we  felt  inclined  to 
do  so ;  on  only  two  mornings  did  we  start  be 
fore  nine-thirty,  and  seldom  drove  later  than 
seven  in  the  evening.  In  so  doing,  we  made  a 
pleasure  of  the  trip  and  not  a  duty, and  avoid 
ed  any  unusual  fatigue. 

The  first  evening  we  reached  Easton,  Penn 
sylvania.  We  were  glad  to  get  into  the  com 
fortable  Huntington  Hotel  out  of  the  wet, 
and  enjoyed  a  good  dinner  and  a  night's  rest. 
We  followed  the  Lincoln  Highway  to  Pitts 
burgh,  and  have  only  praise  to  offer  for  the 
condition  of  the  road  and  the  beauty  of  the 
small  towns  through  which  we  went.  Of  all 
the  states  that  we  crossed,  Pennsylvania 
stands  out  'far  excellence  in  good  roads,  clean, 
attractive  towns,  beautiful  farming  country 
and  fruit  belts,  and  well-built,  up-to-date 
farm  buildings.  In  other  states  we  found 
many  such  farms,  but  in  Pennsylvania  it  was 
exceptional  to  find  a  poor,  tumble -down 


8  IT   MIGHT   HAVE   BEEN  WORSE 

farmhouse  or  barn.  The  whole  state  had  an 
air  of  thrift  and  prosperity,  and  every  little 
home  was  surrounded  by  fine  trees,  flowers, 
and  a  well-kept  vegetable  garden. 

The  worst  bugbear  of  the  motorist  are  the 
detours.  Just  why  the  road  commissioners 
choose  the  height  of  the  motoring  season  to 
tear  up  the  main  highways  and  work  the 
roads  has  always  been  a  mystery  to  me,  and 
I  have  never  heard  any  logical  solution  of  it. 
We  were  often  told  that  no  work  to  speak  of 
had  been  done  on  the  state  roads  through  the 
country  during  the  war,  and  in  many  places 
the  heavy  army  trucks  had  cut  up  the  good 
roads  until  the  ruts  left  turtle-backed  ridges 
in  the  center,  not  at  all  pleasant  to  bob  along 
on.  But,  in  view  of  what  we  encountered  later 
in  our  trip,  I  look  back  on  the  Pennsylvania 
roads  as  one  of  the  high  spots  and  pleasures, 
never  to  be  undervalued. 

From  Easton  we  drove  in  the  rain  to  Har- 
risburg.  The  scenery  was  beautiful.  The  Blue 
Ridge  and  the  AlleghaneyMountains  loomed 
up  in  the  haze  like  great  cathedrals;  but  as 
long  as  the  road  was  wide  and  comparatively 
smooth  we  enjoyed  the  ups  and  downs.  Our 
engine  told  us  that  we  were  gradually  as- 


NEW  YORK  TO  PITTSBURGH  9 

cending;  the  mist  would  be  wafted  off  by  a 
mountain  breeze,  and  then  a  gorgeous  pano 
rama  stretched  before  us  as  far  as  the  eye 
could  see. 

We  found  Harrisburg  a  busy,  thriving  city, 
with  well-paved  streets,  attractive  homes, 
and  many  fine  buildings.  The  leading  hotel, 
the  Penn  Harris,  was  turning  away  guests ; 
so  we  were  made  very  comfortable  at  the 
Senate.  Here  the  cafe  was  miserable,  but  we 
went  to  the  restaurant  of  the  Penn  Harris 
and  had  an  excellent  dinner  at  moderate 
prices.  We  have  found  that  at  the  largest, 
best  hotels  the  food  was  better  cooked  and 
much  cheaper  than  at  the  smaller  ones.  Usu 
ally  we  had  excellent  club  breakfasts  from 
forty  cents  up,  and  club  lunches,  with  an  am 
ple  selection  of  good  things  to  eat,  for  fifty 
or  sixty  cents.  You  may  pay  more  for  your 
room  and  bath,  but  you  get  more  for  your 
money,  with  better  service.  We  made  it  a  rule 
to  go  to  the  newest,  largest  hotels,  and  in 
dulge  in  every  comfort  that  was  afforded. 
Why?  Not  to  be  extravagant,  nor  to  say  that 
we  had  stopped  at  such  or  such  hotels.  After 
you  have  driven  day  after  day,  and  come  in 
stiff  and  tired,  there  is  no  bed  too  soft  and  no 


IO  IT  MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

bathroom  too  luxurious  to  overrest  your 
mind  and  body.  Economize  in  other  ways  if 
you  must,  but  not  on  good  food  and  com 
fortable  lodgings. 

Our  third  day  was  still  a  drizzle;  we  would 
no  sooner  have  the  top  down  than  we  would 
have  to  put  it  up  again,  and  often  the  side 
curtains  as  well.  Our  objective  point  was  the 
charmingly  quaint  town  of  Bedford,  and  the 
Bedford  Arms.  This  part  of  Pennsylvania 
was  more  beautiful  than  what  we  had  been 
through,  and  every  mile  of  the  day's  run  was 
a  pleasure. 

I  have  not  spoken  of  our  lunches,  a  most 
important  item  by  one  o'clock.  We  had 
brought  a  small  English  hamper,  fitted  with 
the  usual  porcelain  dishes,  cutlery,  tin  boxes, 
etc.,  for  four  people,  and  unless  we  were  pos 
itive  that  a  good  place  to  eat  was  midway  on 
the  road,  we  prepared  a  lunch,  or  had  the  ho 
tel  put  one  up  for  us.  This  latter  plan  proved 
both  expensive  and  unsatisfactory.  Usually 
Toodles  was  sent  foraging  to  the  delicates 
sen  shops  for  fresh  rolls,  cold  meats  and  sand 
wiches,  eggs,  fruit,  tomatoes,  and  bakery 
dainties,  and  the  hotel  filled  our  thermos- 
bottles  with  hot  coffee.  We  carried  salt  and 


NEW  YORK  TO  PITTSBURGH  II 

pepper,  mustard,  sweet  and  sour  pickles,  or  a 
relish,  orange  marmalade,  or  a  fruit  jam,  in 
the  hamper,  and  beyond  that  we  took  no 
staple  supplies  on  the  whole  trip.  We  met  so 
many  people  who  carried  with  them  a  whole 
grocery-store,  even  to  sacks  of  flour,  that  you 
would  imagine  there  was  not  a  place  to  get 
food  from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Pacific.  Often 
later  on  we  would  meet  these  same  people 
and  find  that  they  had  thrown  or  given  away 
most  of  their  larder.  Of  course,  the  camping 
parties,  which  are  legion,  are  houses  on 
wheels !  Aside  from  the  tents,  poles,  bedding, 
and  cooking  utensils,  we  have  seen  stoves, 
sewing-machines,  crates  of  tinned  foods, 
trunks  full  of  every  conceivable  incumbrance 
they  could  buy,  strapped  to  the  back  and 
sides  and  even  on  the  top  of  the  car,  and  usu 
ally  the  personal  luggage  jammed  in  between 
the  mud-guards  and  hood  of  the  engine.  A 
traveling  circus  is  an  orderly,  compact  mini 
ature  in  comparison.  And  the  people! — sit 
ting  on  top  of  a  mountain  of  baggage,  or  un 
der  it,  the  picture  of  woe  and  discomfort. 
That  may  be  fun,  but  I  fear  I  have  not  devel 
oped  a  capacity  for  such  pleasure.  Have  you 
ever  seen  a  party  of  this  description  unpack 


12  IT  MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

and  strike  camp  after  a  hot,  broiling,  dusty 
day  of  hard  travel?  You  will  do  as  we  did — 
drive  right  ahead  until  you  come  to  a  clean 
hotel  and  a  bath. 

We  have  been  told  so  often  that  one  has  to 
develop  an  "open-air"  spirit  to  really  enjoy  a 
long  motor  trip !  Quite  true !  I  can't  imagine 
what  the  fun  can  be  of  touring  in  a  closed 
limousine,  and  yet  we  have  met  that  particu 
larly  exclusive  party  more  than  once.  On  the 
whole,  an  absence  of  flies,  ants,  mosquitoes, 
and  sand  and  dust  in  one's  bed  and  food  does 
not  detract  from  the  pleasure  of  the  trip.  It 
may  be  all  right  to  endure  such  annoyances 
for  a  few  days  in  the  woods,  to  fish  or  hunt — 
but  weeks  and  more  weeks  of  it !  We  admit 
our  "lack/'  whatever  it  may  be  termed,  and 
enjoy  clean  linen,  hot  tubs,  and  tables  that 
have  legs  not  belonging  to  ants  and  spiders. 

In  Wisconsin  we  met  a  most  unique  and 
charming  couple,  both  past  fifty,  who  had 
lived  all  over  the  world,  even  in  South  Amer 
ica,  a  Mr.  X  and  wife,  from  Washington,  D. 
C.  They  were  going  on  the  same  route  as  we 
were,  and  back  to  Washington,  via  southern 
California,  the  Yosemite,  New  Mexico,  New 
Orleans,  and  then  north.  So  their  trip  would 


NEW  YORK  TO  PITTSBURGH  13 

be  twice  as  long  as  ours.  They  loved  the  open, 
with  that  two-ton-equipment  enthusiasm  ex 
celling  all  others  we  had  met.  From  an  over 
stocked  medicine  chest,  so  carefully  stowed 
away  that  they  bought  what  they  wanted  en 
route  rather  than  unload  everything  to  try  to 
find  it,  to  a  complete  wardrobe  for  every  oc 
casion,  which  was  never  unpacked,  they  had 
every  conceivable  utensil  that  a  well-fur 
nished  apartment  could  boast  of.  They  even 
bought  a  small  puppy,  as  a  protection  at 
night  when  camping;  the  poor  little  beast 
caught  cold  and  crawled  under  the  pile  and 
died.  They  solved  the  lunch  problem  in  a 
unique  way.  If  they  passed  a  good  corn-field, 
they  "procured"  a  few  ears  and  stopped  at 
the  next  farmhouse  and  calmly  asked  the 
loan  of  the  kitchen  for  a  short  time,  and 
cooked  their  corn  and  bought  bread  and 
milk,  etc.  Mrs.  X  remarked:  "It  is  all  so  sim 
ple!  We  have  all  these  things  in  case  we 
should  need  them,  but  they  are  so  well 
packed  in  the  car  it  is  really  too  bad  to  dis 
turb  them ;  so  I  live  in  one  gown,  and  we  buy 
what  we  need,  and  it  is  most  satisfactory." 
Later  we  learned  that  they  had  camped  out 
just  three  nights  in  several  weeks. 


14  IT  MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

But  I  have  digressed,  and  left  you  at  the 
Bedford  Arms,  one  of  the  most  artistic,  at 
tractive  inns  that  we  found.  The  little  touch 
es  showed  a  woman's  hand.  Flowers  every 
where,  dainty  cretonnes,  willow  furniture, 
and  pretty,  fine  china;  in  appearance,  cour 
tesy,  and  efficiency,  the  maids  in  the  dining- 
room  might  have  come  from  a  private  dwell 
ing.  Will  someone  tell  me  why  there  are  not 
more  such  charming  places  to  stop  at  on  our 
much-traveled  main  highways.  Why  must  ho 
tel  men  buy  all  the  heavy,  hideous  furniture, 
the  everlasting  red  or  green  carpets  and  im 
possible  wall-paper,  to  make  night  hideous 
for  their  guests — to  say  nothing  of  the  pic 
tures  on  their  walls?  It  is  a  wonder  one  can 
sleep. 

There  is  much  of  interest  to  see  in  Bed 
ford — really  old,  artistic  houses,  not  spoiled 
by  modern  gewgaws,  set  in  lovely  gardens  of 
old-fashioned  flowers,  neatly  trimmed  hedg 
es,  and  red  brick  walks.  There  were  few  early 
Victorian  eyesores  to  mar  the  general  beauty 
of  the  town.  As  we  were  walking  down  the 
main  street  about  sunset,  we  heard  a  great 
chattering  and  chirping,  as  if  a  thousand 
birds  were  holding  a  jubilee.  Looking  up,  we 


NEW  YORK  TO  PITTSBURGH  15 

found,  on  a  projecting  balcony  running  along 
the  front  of  all  the  buildings  for  two  blocks, 
hundreds  of  martins  discussing  the  League 
of  Nations  and  Peace  Treaty  quite  as  vigor 
ously  as  were  their  senatorial  friends  in 
Washington.  They  were  fluttering  about  and 
making  a  very  pretty  picture.  It  sounded  like 
the  bird  market  in  Paris  on  a  Sunday  morn 
ing,  which,  in  passing,  is  an  interesting  sight 
that  few  tourists  ever  see. 

It  was  with  regret  that  we  left  the  next 
morning  for  Pittsburgh.  The  day  was  clear 
and  cool  and  the  best  part  of  the  Lincoln 
Highway  was  before  us;  in  fact,  the  first  real 
thrill  so  far,  and  one  of  the  high  spots  of  the 
trip.  This  was  a  stretch  of  seven  and  a  half 
miles  of  tarvia  road  on  the  top  ridge  of  the 
Alleghany  Mountains,  as  smooth  as  marble, 
as  straight  as  the  bee  flies,  looking  like  a  strip 
of  satin  ribbon  as  far  as  the  eye  could  see.  On 
both  sides  were  deep  ravines,  well  wooded, 
and  valleys  green  with  abundant  crops,  and 
still  higher  mountains  rising  in  a  haze  of  blue 
and  purple  coloring,  making  a  picture  that 
would  never  be  forgotten.  The  top  was  down 
and  we  stopped  the  car  again  and  again,  to 
drink  it  in,  and,  as  one  of  us  remarked,  "We 


l6  IT   MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

may  see  more  grand  and  rugged  scenery  lat 
er  on,  but  we  shall  not  see  anything  more 
beautiful  than  this" — and  it  proved  true. 

We  had  come  442  miles,  from  New  York 
to  Pittsburgh,  over  fine  roads  and  through 
beautiful  country.  Approaching  Pittsburgh, 
we  came  in  on  a  boulevard  overlooking  the 
river  and  "valley  of  smoke."  Great  stacks 
were  belching  out  soot  and  smoke,  obliter 
ating  the  city  and  even  the  sky  and  sun.  They 
may  have  a  smoke  ordinance,  but  no  one  has 
ever  heard  of  it.  We  arrived  at  the  William 
Penn  Hotel,  in  the  heart  of  the  business  cen 
ter  of  the  city,  a  first-class,  fine  hotel  in  every 
regard.  We  found  the  prices  reasonable  for 
the  excellent  service  afforded,  which  was 
equal  to  that  of  any  New  York  hotel.  The 
dining-room,  on  the  top  of  the  house,  was 
filled  with  well-dressed  people,  and  we  were 
glad  that  we  had  unpacked  our  dinner  clothes, 
and  appeared  less  like  the  usual  tourist,  in 
suits  and  blouses.  It  was  frightfully  hot  dur 
ing  our  two  days'  stay.  You  go  out  to  drive 
feeling  clean  and  immaculate,  and  come  in 
with  smuts  and  soot  on  your  face  and  clothes, 
looking  like  a  foundry  hand.  The  office  build 
ings  are  magnificent,  and  out  a  bit  in  the 


NEW  YORK  TO  PITTSBURGH  17 

parks  and  boulevards  the  homes  are  attrac 
tive,  and  many  are  very  handsome,  especially 
in  Sewickley.  But  aside  from  the  dirty  atmo 
sphere  one  is  impressed  mostly  by  the  evi 
dences  of  the  outlay  of  immense  wealth.  An 
enthusiastic  brother  living  there  took  us 
through  a  number  of  the  business  blocks,  and 
told  us  of  the  millions  each  cost  and  the  al 
most  unbelievable  amount  of  business  car 
ried  on.  I  can  only  describe  Pittsburgh  as  the 
proudest  city  we  visited.  Not  so  much  of  the 
actual  wealth  represented,  but  of  what  the 
billions  had  accomplished  in  great  industries. 
We  went  out  in  the  evening  and  stood  on  one 
of  the  bridges  to  look  over  the  river  lined 
with  monster  furnaces.  The  air  was  filled 
with  sparks,  jets  of  flame  bursting  through 
the  smoke.  All  you  could  think  of  was  Dante's 
Inferno  visualized.  And  what  of  the  men  who 
spend  their  lives  in  that  lurid  atmosphere, 
never  knowing  if  the  sun  shone,  nor  what 
clean,  pure  air  was  like  in  their  working 
hours  ?  I  shall  never  look  at  a  steel  structure 
again  without  giving  more  credit  to  the  men 
who  spend  their  waking  hours  in  those  hells 
of  heat  and  smoke  than  to  the  men  whose 
millions  have  made  it  possible. 


l8  IT   MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

The  second  day,  nothing  daunted  by  the 
heat,  we  went  out  to  the  St.  Clair  Country 
Club  for  lunch  and  golf,  about  a  twenty-mile 
run  through  the  suburbs.  This  is  a  compar 
atively  small  and  new  club,  but  our  host  told 
us  that  they  were  soon  to  have  a  fine  club 
house  and  improve  the  links.  The  location 
is  attractive,  and  the  luncheon  was  delicious. 
We  had  brought  our  golf  bags,  tennis  rac 
quets,  and  bathing  suits  with  us,  much  to  the 
amusement  of  our  friends.  After  sitting  in 
the  car  day  in  and  day  out,  I  know  of  no  bet 
ter  way  to  stretch  your  legs  and  arms  and  to 
exercise  your  stiff  muscles  than  to  put  in  a 
few  hours  at  either  game.  My  husband  de 
scribed  this  course  thus:  "You  have  to  hold 
on  to  a  tree  with  one  hand  and  drive  with  the 
other,  the  bally  course  is  so  steep."  There  are 
many  more  pretentious  country  clubs  and 
golf  links  about  Pittsburg,  but  this  small  one 
had  charm  and  a  homelike  atmosphere.  Our 
last  evening  we  were  taken  to  the  "New 
China,"  the  last  word  in  Chinese  restaurants 
— beautiful,  clean,  and  artistic!  You  have 
your  choice  of  American  or  Chinese  dishes. 
As  we  were  looking  for  sensations,  we  or 
dered  some  marvelous  dishes  with  impossi- 


NEW  YORK  TO  PITTSBURGH  IQ 

ble  names.  One  portion  was  sufficient  for 
three  hungry  people.  The  other  two  portions 
were  untouched.  I  do  not  know  what  we  ate, 
but  it  was  delicious.  Truth  compels  me  to 
state  that  we  were  all  ill  for  three  days,  and 
decided  to  patronize  home  cooking  in  the  fu 
ture. 

We  did  not  get  away  until  noon  the  next 
day,  as  our  auto  top  had  been  torn  in  the 
garage,  and  the  manager  kept  out  of  sight 
until  noon,  and  then,  after  considerable  pres 
sure  had  been  brought  to  bear,  he  made  a 
cash  settlement  of  fifteen  dollars,  wishing  us 
all  the  bad  luck  his  "Mutt  and  Jeff'  mind 
could  conjure. 


Ill 

OHIO  AND  DETOURS 

WE  were  assured  that  we  should  find  good 
roads  through  Ohio  to  Cleveland,  where  we 
were  to  take  the  D.  &  C.  steamer  to  Detroit. 
If  we  were  to  take  this  part  of  the  trip  again, 
we  should  certainly  go  to  Chicago,  via  Tole 
do  and  South  Bend,  Indiana.  As  we  had  rela 
tives  in  Detroit  waiting  in  the  heat  to  see  us, 
and  to  depart  for  cooler  climes,  we  took  the 
most  direct  route  through  Youngstown, 
Ohio,  to  Cleveland.  The  roads  were  poor  and 
the  many  detours  were  almost  impassable — 
over  high  hills,  on  narrow  sandy  roads,  wind 
ing  like  a  letter  S  through  the  woods.  One 
long  stretch  was  so  narrow  that  two  cars 
could  not  pass;  so  they  had  two  roads,  one 
going  each  way.  The  Doctor  remarked,  "I 
wonder  what  would  happen  if  a  car  broke 
down  on  this  detour."  Prophetic  soul !  He  no 
sooner  had  said  it  than  we  rounded  a  curve, 
and  presto!  there  were  six  cars,  puffing  and 
snorting,  lined  up  back  of  an  Overland  car, 
which  was  disabled  and  stuck  fast  in  the 


OHIO    AND    DETOURS  21 

sand.  In  half  an  hour  there  were  ten  cars 
back  of  ours — and  the  sun  setting  over  the 
hills,  and  fifty  miles  to  Youngstown!  The 
owner  of  the  car  knew  nothing  of  his  engine. 
Heaven  save  us  from  such  motorists!  But 
Heaven  did  not  save  us,  for  we  met  dozens  of 
men,  headed  for  the  wilds  of  somewhere,  who 
were  as  blissfully  ignorant  of  what  made  the 
wheels  go  round  as  their  wives  were. 

It  may  have  been  a  coincidence,  but  is  nev 
ertheless  a  fact,  that  nearly  every  car  we  saw 
disabled,  ditched,  stuck  in  the  mud  or  sand, 
or  being  towed  in,  on  the  entire  trip,  was  an 
Overland  car.  It  really  became  a  joke.  When 
we  saw  a  wreck  ahead  of  us,  some  one  ex 
claimed,  "Dollars  to  doughnuts  it  is  an  Over 
land!" — and  it  generally  was.  It  used  to  be  a 
common  expression,  "If  you  wished  to  really 
know  people,  travel  with  them."  I  would 
change  it  to  "Motor,  and  grow  wise."  There 
were  as  many  varieties  of  dispositions  in  that 
belated  crowd  as  there  were  people.  Every 
one  got  out  of  his  car  and  went  ahead  to  the 
wreck,  offering  advice,  growling,  complain 
ing,  and  cursing  Ohio  detours.  A  few  sat  on 
the  roadside  and  laughed,  chatted,  or  read 
the  papers.  As  it  was  hot  and  dusty,  we  looked 


22  IT  MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

like  an  emigrant  train.  My  husband  is  an  en 
gineer  with  a  knowledge  of  cars.  He  sug 
gested  some  simple  remedy  which  enabled 
the  man  to  get  his  car  to  the  next  siding,  and 
we  all  started  with  a  whoop  of  joy  on  the 
wretched  road,  leaving  the  Overland  owner 
to  spend  the  night  at  a  farmhouse  near  by. 
Our  troubles  were  not  over.  With  a  steep 
grade  before  us,  I  was  driving,  going  up 
steadily  on  second  speed,  when  a  real  wreck 
loomed  up  three-quarters  of  the  way  to  the 
top  of  the  hill.  Two  drunken  niggers  had  up 
set  a  rickety  old  truck  loaded  with  furniture 
in  the  center  of  the  road,  and  their  car  had 
zigzagged  across  the  road,  narrowly  escap 
ing  a  plunge  down  the  steep  embankment. 
You  could  not  pass  on  either  side;  so,  with 
my  heart  in  my  mouth,  I  reversed,  backing 
our  car  into  the  farther  side  of  the  road,  with 
two  wheels  in  a  deep  stony  ditch,  but  safe 
from  sliding  down-hill  on  top  of  the  cars 
coming  up  back  of  us.  It  looked  as  if  we  were 
to  share  the  fate  of  our  Overland  friend  and 
stay  there  indefinitely.  We  all  jumped  out 
and  tried  to  clear  the  house  and  lot  out  of  our 
way.  Those  miserable  niggers  just  sat  on  top 
of  the  debris  and  refused  to  work.  After  tug- 


OHIO   AND   DETOURS  23 

ging  at  spring  beds  and  filthy  bedding,  we 
succeeded  in  getting  it  pushed  to  one  side.  I 
had  had  enough  driving  for  one  day,  so  gave 
the  wheel  to  my  husband,  and  he  started  the 
engine.  We  did  not  budge!  The  next  half- 
hour  was  spent  in  filling  up  the  ditch  with 
stones  and  making  a  bridge  by  covering  the 
stones  with  boards.  Eventually  the  car  start 
ed,  pulling  itself  out  of  the  slough  of  despair, 
and  narrowly  escaped  turning  turtle.  The 
Doctor, Toodles,and  I  all  called  wildly,"Keep 
going!  don't  stop!" — and  on  he  climbed  to 
the  top,  while  we  trudged  up  through  the 
dust,  a  quarter  of  a  mile.  All  that  night  I 
dreamt  I  was  backing  off  the  Alps  into  space. 
Oh,  what  a  tired,  dirty  party  it  was  that 
drove  up  to  the  Ohio  Hotel  in  Youngstown 
that  night!  Someone  had  told  us  that  there 
was  a  good  hotel  in  Youngstown,  but  we  soon 
came  to  form  our  own  conclusions  about  ho 
tels.  This  was  a  delightful  surprise.  Not  only 
good,  but  wonderful,  for  a  city  of  the  size  of 
Youngstown.  After  we  were  scrubbed  and 
sitting  down  to  a  delicious  dinner  in  the  big 
cool  cafe,  a  broad  smile  spread  over  the  table, 
and  the  Doctor  suggested,  "You  know,  it 
really  might  have  been  worse !" 


24  IT   MIGHT    HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

The  next  day  we  had  more  detours ;  but,  in 
the  main,  the  state  high  ways,  when  they  could 
be  traversed,  were  good.  The  rural  scenery 
through  Ohio  was  pleasing,  but  we  had  left 
the  Lincoln  High  way  and  the  beautiful  farms 
of  Pennsylvania. 

We  reached  Cleveland  by  four,  driving  di 
rectly  to  the  D.  &  C.  wharves.  The  "Eastern 
States"  was  being  loaded,  and  the  monster 
"City  of  Detroit  III,"  a  floating  palace,  was 
starting  out  for  Buffalo,  I  believe.  Although 
the  week-end  travel  is  always  heavy,  and  this 
was  Friday,  we  were  most  fortunate  in  get 
ting  staterooms, with  brass  beds  (not  bunks), 
running  water,  and  a  bathroom.  It  may  be  of 
interest  to  state  that  the  cost  of  shipping  the 
car  to  Detroit,  a  night's  run,  was  only  $14.50. 
As  we  did  not  sail  until  nine  o'clock,  and  we 
could  not  go  aboard  nor  leave  the  car,  we 
drove  out  the  Lake  Shore  drive  overlooking 
Lake  Erie,  through  beautiful  suburbs,  with 
attractive  homes  and  gardens,  and  then 
something  told  us  it  must  be  time  to  investi 
gate  the  hotels.  As  we  had  all  sampled  the 
excellent  cooking  at  the  Statler,  we  dined  at 
the  fine  Cleveland  Hotel — modern  in  all  its 
appointments,  in  good  taste,  and  unexcelled 


OHIO   AND    DETOURS  25 

service.  We  remarked  the  appearance  of  the 
people.  There  was  not  a  smartly  gowned 
woman  in  the  dining-room,  and  the  waiters 
had  a  monopoly  of  the  dress  suits.  Being  hot, 
and  in  midsummer,  and  a  more  or  less  tran 
sient  gathering,  might  have  been  the  reason. 
In  many  large  cities,  in  first-class  hotels,  we 
found  the  tired  business  men  in  business 
suits  and  the  women  in  skirts  and  blouses. 
Never  did  anything  taste  more  delicious  than 
the  broiled  fresh  whitefish,  just  out  of  the 
lake,  green  corn  on  the  cob,  melons,  and 
peaches.  As  long  as  we  remained  in  the  Great 
Lakes  region,  we  reveled  in  the  whitefish, 
broiled,  saute,  or  baked.  It  is  the  king  of 
fresh-water  fish. 

I  am  beginning  to  realize  that  I  am  ex 
hausting  my  descriptive  adjectives  when  it 
comes  to  hotels.  Time  was,  not  so  very  far 
distant,  when  a  hotel  like  the  Cleveland  was 
not  to  be  found,  except  in  possibly  half  a  doz 
en  cities  in  this  country.  Now  it  is  the  rule. 
On  all  our  long  trip,  with  the  exception  of 
three  nights,  we  had  perfectly  comfortable, 
clean  double  rooms,  usually  with  twin  beds, 
and  private  baths  with  modern  sanitary 
plumbing  and  an  abundance  of  hot,  not  tepid, 


26  IT  MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

water.  We  have  been  assured  by  the  proprie 
tors  that  the  change  has  been  wrought  by 
motorists  who  demanded  better  lodgings.  I 
think  the  farmer  is  the  only  member  of  soci 
ety  who  still  holds  a  grudge  against  us  as  a 
class;  but  when  he  is  the  proud  possessor  of 
a  "Little  Henry"  he  slides  over  to  our  side 
unconsciously.  A  book  could  be  written  on 
"Motoring  as  an  art,  a  profession,  a  pastime, 
a  luxury  or  a  necessity,  a  money  maker  or  a 
spender,  a  joy  or  a  nuisance" — and  then 
much  more! 

Before  leaving  Cleveland  I  must  speak  of 
its  fine  municipal  buildings,  its  many  indus 
tries,  and  its  far-famed  Euclid  Avenue,  once 
the  finest  of  streets,  lined  on  both  sides  with 
massive,  splendid  residences,  many  with 
grounds  a  block  square;  alas!  long  since 
turned  into  boarding-houses,  clubs,  and 
places  of  business — the  inevitable  transition 
from  a  small  to  a  great  city. 

Our  trip  across  Lake  Erie  was  quiet  and 
cooling.  That  is  not  always  the  case,  even  on 
such  big  steamers  as  the  D.  &C.  line  affords. 
I  have  seen  that  lake  lashed  into  fury  by 
waves  that  rocked  the  largest  boat  like  a  coc 
kleshell.  Breakfast  on  the  steamer  was  all 


OHIO    AND   DETOURS  27 

that  could  be  desired.  It  was  some  time  be 
fore  we  had  the  car  on  the  dock,  ready  to 
start  to  our  hotel  in  Detroit.  The  ride  up  the 
river  had  been  interesting,  past  old  Fort 
Wayne,  the  Great  Lakes  engineering  plant 
and  dry  docks,  and  the  grain  elevators ;  even 
at  that  early  hour  (seven  A.  M.)  the  wharves 
were  alive  with  the  bustle  of  trade. 

Here  I  pause.  Detroit  was  my  home  city 
and  that  of  my  father  and  grandfather  in  ter 
ritorial  days.  My  earliest  recollections  of  it 
were  of  broad  streets,  fine  homes,  and  an  at 
mosphere  of  dignified  culture  and  home-lov 
ing  people.  But  now!  It  has  outgrown  recog 
nition.  It  has  outgrown  every  semblance  of 
its  former  charm.  Like  Cleveland,  the  old 
homes  on  the  principal  avenues  are  all  given 
over  to  trade,  and  the  streets  down-town  are 
overcrowded,  noisy,  and  well-nigh  impassa 
ble.  The  Statler  is  a  new  and  fine  hotel.  We 
went  to  the  Pontchartrain,  formerly  the  old 
Russell  House,  which  in  its  palmy  days,  in 
the  Messrs.  Chittenden  regime,  was  the  cen 
ter  of  the  social  life  of  Detroit.  It  has  passed 
through  several  hands,  and  is  now  doubtless 
torn  down.  We  found  it  run  down  and  unde 
sirable  in  every  way.  Even  then  we  felt  more 


28  IT   MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

at  home  there  and  made  the  best  of  things. 
We  spent  two  and  a  half  days,  as  hot  as  I 
ever  experienced.  The  nights  were  so  hot  that 
sleep  was  out  of  the  question.  A  drive  around 
the  Island  Park,  Belle  Isle,  cooled  us  off  a  bit. 
Thousands  were  taking  advantage  of  the 
municipal  bathhouses  or  a  swim  in  the  river. 

If  the  city  has  been  spoiled  down-town,  it 
has  been  equally  beautified  in  the  outlying 
sections.  The  drive  to  Grosse  Pointe  along 
Lake  St.  Clair  has  ten  miles  of  residences  un 
surpassed  in  America.  The  magnificent  home 
of  Senator  Truman  Newberry  and  dozens  of 
others  that  could  be  mentioned,  set  in  acres 
of  highly  cultivated  grounds,  commanding 
an  unobstructed  view  of  Lake  St.  Clair,  are 
worthy  of  a  special  trip  to  Detroit  to  see. 

We  lunched  at  the  Country  Club,  but  weak 
ened  when  it  came  to  trying  the  celebrated 
golf  links.  It  was  too  boiling  hot !  There  were 
not  more  than  a  dozen  people  at  the  club. 
Usually  the  place  was  crowded.  There  are 
other  fine  clubs  and  links  about  Detroit,  and 
the  city  seems  to  have  gone  golf  mad — a  very 
healthful  form  of  insanity!  The  Detroit  Ath 
letic  Club,  in  the  business  center,  claims  to  be 
the  finest  private  city  club  in  America.  If  pat- 


OHIO    AND    DETOURS  29 

ronage  is  any  indication  of  its  excellence,  this 
must  be  true.  My  brother,  Mr.  L.,  gave  us  a 
beautiful  dinner  there,  and  we  certainly  have 
not  seen  anything  to  surpass  it.  Our  time  was 
all  too  quickly  spent,  and  the  heat  literally 
drove  us  out  of  town.  Before  leaving,  we  paid 
our  respects  to  the  mayor,  Mr.  C.,  an  old- 
time  friend.  While  we  were  pleasantly  chat 
ting  with  him  and  he  was  graciously  offering 
us  the  keys  of  the  city,  my  husband  had  a 
summons  served  on  him  and  the  car  locked 
for  leaving  it  more  than  an  hour  at  the  curb. 
He  was  taken  to  police  headquarters  and 
paid  his  fine  and  then  returned  for  us.  As  we 
were  praising  the  efficiency  of  the  mayor,  he 
gave  us  a  knowing  smile,  and  some  days  later 
showed  us  his  summons! 


IV 

ON  TO  CHICAGO 

1  REALIZE  that  I  am  giving  a  most  unsatis 
factory  picture  of  the  Eastern  and  Middle- 
West  cities.  Our  time  was  limited,  and  space 
forbids  my  giving  anything  but  a  cursory 
glance,  a  snapshot  view,  of  their  size  and 
beauty.  And,  then,  most  tourists  visit  these 
places  and  the  reading  public  have  an  inti 
mate  knowledge  of  them. 

We  left  Detroit,  having  been  told  at  the 
Michigan  Automobile  Association  that  we 
should  find  excellent  roads.  As  one  promi 
nent  broker  remarked,  "You  can  drive  the 
length  of  the  state  on  macadamized  roads." 
Where  were  they?  Surely  not  the  way  we 
went,  the  way  described  in  the  Blue  Book. 
And  let  me  state  right  here  that  we  have 
never  had  much  faith  in  that  publication,  and 
now  what  little  we  had  is  nihil!  A  few  miles 
out  of  the  city  we  struck  a  detour  which  last 
ed  nearly  to  Ann  Arbor.  We  had  left  at  six 
o'clock,  and  when  we  reached  the  university 
city  all  places  to  dine  were  closed.  We  did 


ON   TO   CHICAGO  3! 

not  dine.  We  had  pot-luck  supper  at  a  Greek 
restaurant,  and  started  for  Jackson  to  spend 
the  night.  Ann  Arbor  is  a  beautiful  place,  and 
the  university  buildings  and  fraternity  houses 
are  second  to  none  of  all  we  saw  in  other 
states.  The  road  did  not  improve,  and  we  ar 
rived  at  Jackson  very  late  and  put  up  at  the 
Otsego  Hotel.  It  was  crowded,  and  we  were 
given  the  "sample  rooms,"  in  which  the  trav 
eling-men  displayed  their  goods  on  long  ta 
bles.  We  had  comfortable  beds  and  private 
baths,  but  you  felt  as  if  you  were  sleeping  in 
a  department  store,  with  the  counters  cov 
ered  with  white  cloths.  Otherwise,  the  Otse 
go  is  a  good  hotel,  and  we  were  perfectly 
comfortable.  By  the  time  we  were  through 
breakfast,  we  asked  to  have  a  lunch  put  up, 
and  were  kindly  but  firmly  told  that  it  was 
nine-thirty,  and  the  chef  had  gone  home  and 
locked  up  everything.  We  pleaded  for  some 
hot  coffee  and  anything  cooked  that  was  left 
from  breakfast.  But  no,  not  a  sandwich  nor  a 
roll  could  we  buy!  We  met  this  condition 
time  after  time.  If  we  arrived  at  a  hotel  after 
eight  o'clock  in  the  evening,  we  were  met 
with  the  same  retort — "Chef  gone  and  every 
thing  closed."  A  dozen  times  and  more  we 


32  IT  MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

were  obliged  to  go  out  and  forage  for  supper 
— "due  to  the  eight-hour  law/'  we  were  al 
ways  told.  As  it  was  nearly  ten  o'clock,  we 
trusted  to  luck  to  find  a  lunching-place  en 
route.  Fortune  certainly  favored  us  in  the 
most  unexpected  way — not  in  our  roads, 
which  still  were  poor,  but  in  the  shape  of  two 
little  girls  on  the  wayside.  As  we  were  pass 
ing  through  a  hamlet  called  Smithfield — be 
fore  reaching  Albion — we  were  attracted  by 
two  dainty  girls  with  baskets  of  goodies 
waiting  for  us.  Their  names  were  Evelyn  and 
Willetta  Avery,  and  they  proved  to  be  fairy 
godmothers.  Their  mother  owned  the  neigh 
boring  farm,  and  these  children  were  spend 
ing  their  vacation  in  supplying  lunches  to 
passers-by.  Everything  was  done  up  in  fresh 
napkins  and  was  real  home  cooking.  This  is 
what  we  bought  from  them :  a  quart  of  fresh 
blueberries  (which  Toodles,  in  her  joy, 
promptly  upset  in  the  tonneau,  and  we 
walked  on  blueberries  for  days!),  fresh  cake, 
pie,  honey,  hard-boiled  eggs,  tongue  sand 
wiches,  hot  bread  and  rolls,  a  pat  of  sweet 
butter,  and  oh !  such  home-made  pickles,  rasp 
berry  jam  (a  pint  glass),  and  a  bottle  of  ice- 
cold  spring  water,  an  abundance  for  four 


ON   TO   CHICAGO  33 

hungry  grown-ups,  and  all  for  $2.10.  We  gave 
them  both  liberal  tips  and  they  smiled  and 
waved  us  out  of  sight.  That  was  a  banner 
luncheon,  and  the  best  but  one  on  the  trip. 

We  stopped  in  the  interesting  city  of  Al 
bion.  The  college  was  founded  and  endowed 
by  General  Fisk,  of  Civil  War  fame,  whose 
only  daughter,  Mrs.  P.,  is  one  .of  New  York's 
most  beautiful  and  prominent  women.  That 
afternoon  about  four  we  came  to  Battle  Creek, 
and  as  the  Doctor's  eyes  were  troubling  him, 
from  the  heat  and  dust,  we  drove  to  the  san 
atorium,  where  he  could  receive  treatment. 
It  is  an  immense  place  and  beautifully  kept 
up.  We  were  sitting  in  the  car  outside,  watch 
ing  the  crowds  of  patients  with  their  friends, 
when  a  number  of  wagons,  like  popcorn  wag 
ons,  came  into  view,  pushed  about  by  the 
white-robed  attendants.  The  wagon  itself 
and  the  four  uprights  were  covered  with 
white  cloth  and  festooned  with  fresh  vines 
and  flowers.  In  the  center,  hidden  from  view, 
was  an  ice-cream  freezer,  and  young  girls  in 
white,  carrying  flowers,  were  dispensing  ice 
cream  cones  at  five  cents  each.  It  was  as  pret 
ty  a  sight  as  I  ever  saw.  The  carts  were 
wheeled  through  the  grounds  and  everyone, 


34  IT  MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

sick  or  well,  indulged.  It  was  our  first  intro 
duction  to  ice-cream  cones,  but  we  acquired 
the  habit;  and  thereafter  our  afternoon  tea 
consisted  of  ice  cream,  generally  bought  at  a 
soda-water  fountain  in  some  small  town 
along  our  road.  It  may  be  fattening,  but  it  is 
nourishing  and  refreshing.  Even  in  the  tiny 
hamlets  on  the  plains  of  Montana  we  found 
good,  rich  ice  cream.  It  is  certainly  an  Ameri 
can  institution  and  a  very  palatable  one. 

We  had  come  ninety  miles  over  bad  roads, 
and  it  was  160  miles  to  Chicago,  so  we  de 
cided  to  stop  at  Paw  Paw  for  the  night.  We 
drove  through  the  town  and  inquired  which 
was  the  best  hotel — our  usual  question — and 
were  told  that  they  had  two,  but  the  Dyck- 
man  House  was  first-class — a  typical  small 
country  hotel,  with  little  promise  of  comfort. 
We  were  shown  into  big,  comfortable  rooms 
with  one  private  bath;  but  were  told  that 
"supper  was  over."  The  manager  was  a  typi 
cal  small-town  person  of  importance,  but  had 
a  kindly  eye,  and  looked  amenable  to  persua 
sion.  The  others  had  given  up  hope;  not  so 
with  me !  Then  and  there  I  invented  a  "sob- 
story"  that  would  have  melted  Plymouth 
Rock.  It  became  our  stock  in  trade,  and  many 


ON    TO    CHICAGO  35 

a  supperless  night  we  would  have  had  with 
out  it.  After  praising  up  the  town  and  his  ho 
tel,  and  saying  that  we  had  heard  of  its  hos 
pitality,  and  so  forth ;  that  we  were  strangers, 
and  had  come  all  the  way  from  New  York; 
that  we  were  tired  and  hungry,  and  I  really 
was  not  very  well;  and  that  the  price  was  no 
consideration,  etc.,  he  walked  out  to  the  kitch 
en  and  caught  the  cook  with  her  hat  on  ready 
to  depart,  gave  his  orders, and  in  twenty  min 
utes  we  were  doing  full  justice  to  a  perfectly 
good  supper.  After  we  had  finished,  I  went 
out  into  the  summer  kitchen  and  found  a 
good-natured  Irish  woman,  as  round  as  she 
was  pleasing,  fanning  herself.  I  gave  her  a 
dollar,  thanked  her  for  staying,  and  made  a 
friend  for  life. 

Even  in  Michigan  our  New  York  license 
attracted  much  attention.  When  we  came  out 
of  a  hotel  or  store,  a  crowd  of  people  had  in 
variably  gathered  about  the  car  and  were 
feeling  the  tires.  The  size  seemed  to  astonish 
them.  The  fact  that  we  had  come  from  New 
York  filled  them  with  awe,  and  when,  in  fun, 
we  said  we  were  going  to  San  Francisco, 
they  were  speechless!  "Aw,  gaw  on!"  or  "By 
heck !"  was  all  that  they  could  exclaim. 


36  IT   MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

Our  last  taste  of  Michigan  roads  was  worse 
than  the  first.  We  went  by  the  way  of  Benton 
Harbor,  with  sandy  detours  and  uninterest 
ing  country,  until  we  struck  the  strip  of  In 
diana  before  coming  into  South  Chicago. 
Our  troubles  were  over  for  a  long  time.  A 
breeze  had  come  up  from  the  lake,  and  we 
slept  under  blankets  that  night  for  the  first 
time  in  two  weeks.  We  were  all  familiar  with 
Chicago,  and  we  wished  to  stop  out  on  the 
Lake  Shore,  if  possible.  We  drove  through 
the  city,  out  on  the  North  Shore  Boulevard 
to  the  Edgewater  Hotel,  of  which  we  had 
heard  charming  reports.  A  block  below  the 
hotel  cars  were  parked  by  the  dozens.  It  is 
built  directly  on  the  shore,  with  the  most  re 
markable  dining-room  at  the  water's  edge, 
like  the  deck  of  an  ocean  liner,  filled  with 
palms,  flowers,  and  smartly  dressed  people, 
many  in  evening  clothes.  The  tables  were  all 
reserved,  and  so  were  the  rooms,  two  weeks 
in  advance — this  was  the  pleasant  news  that 
awaited  us!  Could  they  take  us  in  the  next 
day?  "No,  possibly  not  for  a  week  or  more." 
No  "sob-story"  to  help  us  here!  But  the 
clerks  were  obliging  and  advised  our  going 
about  ten  miles  farther  out,  to  the  North 


ON   TO   CHICAGO  37 

Shore  Hotel  in  Evanston,  which  we  found 
delightful  in  every  way — very  near  the  lake, 
quiet,  furnished  in  exquisite  taste,  and  good 
food  at  reasonable  prices.  But  even  here  we 
found  the  eight-hour  law  in  force;  we  could 
not  get  a  bite  after  eight  o'clock.  We  went  to 
half  a  dozen  restaurants — all  closed!  In  des 
peration  we  went  into  what  looked  to  be  a 
candy  store,  and  found  they  were  closing  up 
the  cafe!  They  could  serve  nothing  but  ice 
cream  and  sodas.  We  asked  to  see  the  man 
ager  and  told  him  our  plight.  He  was  an 
Eastern  man,  a  long-lost  brother.  He  said, 
"As  you  placed  your  order  just  before  eight 
o'clock,  of  course  we  shall  serve  you."  It  was 
quite  nine  by  this  time.  He  kept  his  face 
straight,  and  we  tried  to  do  the  same.  That 
dinner  certainly  did  touch  the  spot!  It  was 
the  "Martha  Washington  Cafe,"  and  certain 
ly  immortalized  the  gracious  lady  for  all  time 
for  us.  Later  we  went  back  to  the  Edgewater 
Hotel  for  our  mail  and  to  dine,  and  we  were 
more  charmed  with  it  than  before. 

We  had  come  1028  miles  from  New  York. 
Our  car  had  to  be  thoroughly  cleaned,  oiled, 
and  looked  over;  so  we  were  without  it  for 
two  days.  The  street-car  strike  was  on  in  full 


38  IT   MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

force,  not  a  surface  car  moving  in  the  city. 
Consequently,  we  walked,  rested,  and  saw 
but  little  of  the  city.  It  was  quite  ten  years 
since  any  of  us  had  been  there;  in  that  time 
Chicago  had  grown  and  been  so  improved 
that  we  hardly  knew  it.  If  Pittsburgh  people 
are  proud  of  their  city,  Chicagoans  are  the 
original  "boosters."  Nature  has  done  so  much 
for  its  location.  Its  system  of  parks  and  boule 
vards  is  not  equaled  by  any  city.  There  is  a 
natural,  outspoken  pride  evinced  by  the  peo 
ple  of  the  best  class — not  ashamed  of  a  hum 
ble  beginning,  but  glorying  in  the  vast  im 
portance  of  the  commercial  and  financial  life. 
To  quote  from  the  folder  of  the  Yellowstone 
Trail,  which  we  picked  up  here  and  followed 
without  any  trouble  to  St.  Paul,  Minnesota, 
"Nothing  need  be  said  about  Chicago.  Chi 
cago  is  the  heart  of  America  and  speaks  for 
herself."  Other  cities  may  challenge  this,  but 
there  is  every  evidence  of  its  truth.  In  time, 
Chicago  will  give  New  York  a  good  race ;  in 
fact,  she  is  doing  it  now. 

Our  genial  Doctor  left  us  here,  much  to 
our  regret.  We  went  on,  a  select  party  of 
three. 


V 

THROUGH  THE  DAIRY  COUNTRY 

GOOD  road  from  Plymouth  Rock  to  Puget 
Sound."  Thus  reads  the  Yellowstone  Trail 
folder.  If  you  really  believe  a  thing,  you  may 
be  excused  for  stating  it  as  a  truth.  The  trust 
ing  soul  who  wrote  that  alluring  statement 
has  never  been  over  the  entire  trail,  or  I  am 
greatly  mistaken.  Credit  must  be  given  for 
the  system  of  marking  the  trail.  At  every 
turn,  right  or  left,  the  yellow  disk  is  in  plain 
sight. 

On  leaving  Chicago,  we  went  through  Lin 
coln  Park  and  up  the  Sheridan  Road  to  Mil 
waukee.  The  road  is  a  wonderful  boulevard, 
with  beautiful  homes  and  estates  and  glimp 
ses  of  Lake  Michigan,  past  the  Great  Lakes 
Naval  Training  Station,  now  the  largest  in 
the  United  States.  We  had  heard  much  of 
Zion  City.  Driving  down  its  main  street  was 
like  a  funeral.  The  houses  were  closed,  the 
buildings  seemed  deserted,  and  the  only  evi 
dences  of  life  were  two  men,  a  horse  and  wag 
on,  and  a  stray  dog!  We  found  a  good  mac- 


4O  IT   MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

adam  road  to  Oshkosh  from  Milwaukee  and 
many  such  stretches  through  Wisconsin.  At 
times  the  road  followed  closely  the  shore  of 
Lake  Winnebago,  and  then  would  wind 
through  fertile  dairy  country.  Trainloads  of 
butter  and  cheese  are  shipped  from  here  each 
year,  and  high-bred  dairy  cattle  are  raised 
for  the  market.  Was  it  not  strange  that  we 
did  not  have  Wisconsin  cheese  on  the  menu 
at  any  hotel  in  that  state?  Several  times  we 
asked  for  it,  but  no  cheese  was  forthcoming. 
The  first  night  we  put  up  at  Fond  du  Lac, 
at  Irvine  Hotel.  It  was  fairly  good,  but  a  pal 
ace  compared  with  what  we  found  the  next 
night  at  Stevens  Point — the  Jacobs  Hotel. 
This  was  our  first  uncomfortable  experience 
— a  third-rate  house,  with  no  private  bath, 
hard  beds  in  little  tucked-up  rooms,  a  bowl 
and  pitcher  with  cold  water  and  two  small 
towels  the  size  of  napkins,  and  the  most  prim 
itive  table  you  could  imagine.  The  weather 
had  kept  cool  and  clear,  but  the  sandy  roads 
with  deep  ruts  were  awful!  As  it  had  rained 
in  the  night,  the  clerk  assured  us  next  morn 
ing  that  four  cars  were  stuck  in  the  road  west 
of  the  town,  and  we  had  better  not  start.  We 
asked  him  if  there  was  a  good  hotel  at  Marsh- 


THROUGH  THE  DAIRY   COUNTRY  4! 

field.  "Good  hotel !  Well,  you  folks  just  wait 
till  you  see  it!  They  actually  have  Brussels 
carpet  on  the  floor  of  the  dining-room !  Good 
hotel,  eh?  NothhV  better  this  side  of  Chica 
go!"  The  cars  were  lined  up  in  the  street 
waiting  to  start.  The  clouds  looked  heavy 
and  threatening,  and  not  a  ray  of  blue  sky. 
Everyone  was  talking  to  someone.  The  for 
malities  are  discarded  on  such  occasions.  We 
fell  into  conversation  with  a  charming  man, 
Mr.  H.,  from  Fargo,  North  Dakota.  Later 
we  found  that  he  was  the  ex-governor,  and 
his  name  was  sufficient  to  get  anything  you 
wanted  in  the  Northwest.  He  and  his  family 
were  touring  to  New  York;  so  we  exchanged 
maps  and  experiences,  and  he  gave  us  a  list 
of  towns  and  hotels  that  proved  invaluable, 
with  the  kindly  remark,  "If  you  will  show  the 
hotel  clerks  this  list  with  my  name,  I  am  sure 
you  will  be  well  taken  care  of."  We  certainly 
were  —  and  more!  —  from  there  to  Yellow 
stone  Park. 

We  found  the  Blodgett  Hotel  at  Marsh- 
field — with  a  really,  truly  carpet  in  the  din 
ing-room — a  good  hotel,  clean  and  comfort 
able.  The  next  day  we  had  two  hundred 
miles  to  go  to  St.  Paul,  and  were  promised 


42  IT   MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

good  roads.  Colby,  Eau  Claire,  and  Chippe- 
wa  Falls  are  all  attractive  towns.  Wisconsin 
boasts  of  six  thousand  lakes.  It  certainly  is  a 
paradise  for  the  huntsman  and  the  angler — 
"The  land  with  charm  for  every  mile."  The 
method  of  numbering  the  state  highways  is 
the  best  we  have  found.  You  simply  can't 
lose  your  way.  We,  unfortunately,  had  sev 
eral  long  detours  and  did  not  reach  St.  Paul 
until  one  A.  M.,  a  very  sleepy  trio,  in  a  dis 
reputable-looking  car. 


VI 

CLOTHES,  LUGGAGE,  AND  THE  CAR 

WE  decided  to  take  as  little  luggage  as  pos 
sible.  In  the  end,  we  found  that  we  had  more 
than  ten  people  would  need.  Each  of  us  had 
a  large  dress-suit  case,  a  small  handbag  with 
toilet  articles,  an  extra  bag  for  soiled  linen 
(which  proved  useful),  two  golf-bags,  with 
umbrellas  and  rubbers  (which  were  never 
used),  a  case  of  tennis-rackets  and  balls,  a 
shawl-strap  with  a  heavy  rug,  rain-coats  and 
top-coats  for  cold  weather,  the  lunch-ham 
per,  and  a  silk  bag  for  hats.  The  tonneau  was 
comfortably  filled,  with  still  room  for  two, 
and  even  three,  people.  The  thermos-bottles 
were  stowed  away  in  the  side-pockets,  easy 
of  access.  All  the  maps  were  in  the  right- 
hand  front  pocket  by  the  person  sitting  with 
the  driver.  We  had  an  old  rug  which  was  so 
disreputable  that  no  one  would  steal  it;  we 
had  been  on  the  point  of  throwing  it  away  a 
dozen  times,  but  after  it  came  from  the  clean 
ers  we  hadn't  the  heart  to  leave  it  behind. 
That  old  relic  proved  to  be  the  joy  of  the 


44  IT   MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

trip.  We  sat  on  it  when  lunching  on  the  road 
side,  used  it  to  protect  the  car  from  the  bags 
and  golf-clubs,  and  when  we  had  a  puncture 
down  it  went  under  the  car  to  avoid  collect 
ing  all  the  dust  of  the  road  on  my  husband's 
clothes.  We  still  have  it,  and  consider  the  old 
veteran  deserves  a  pension  for  life.  My  ad 
vice — take  an  old  rug! 

And  our  clothes :  Of  course,  a  silk  or  an  al 
paca  dust-coat;  linen  soon  shows  soil  and 
looks  mussy.  This  applies  to  the  ladies.  I 
won't  attempt  to  advise  men,  for  they  will 
wear  what  best  suits  them.  We  wore  one- 
piece  gowns  of  serge,  and,  when  it  was  hot, 
voile  or  even  gingham.  We  each  had  a  silk 
afternoon  frock,  which  would  shake  out  and 
look  presentable  for  dinner,  a  black  evening 
gown  for  dress-up  occasions,  a  half-dozen 
crepe  de  chine  blouses,  and  a  cloth  suit.  We 
could  have  done  without  the  suits.  They  were 
used  but  once  or  twice.  We  all  took  heaps  of 
under-linen,  only  to  find  that  we  could  get 
one-day  laundry  service  in  any  good  hotel, 
and  could  buy  almost  anything  in  the  cities, 
and  even  in  the  small  towns.  The  color  of  our 
linen  resembled  coffee  at  times,  but,  aside 
from  that  unpleasant  feature,  we  could  keep 


CLOTHES,   LUGGAGE,   AND  THE   CAR       45 

clean  and  comfortable  with  no  trouble.  We 
each  had  a  sport  skirt,  a  sweater,  shoes,  a 
pair  of  evening  pumps,  a  pair  of  heavy  top- 
boots,  and  two  pairs  of  Oxford  ties,  black  and 
tan,  with  sensible  heels.  In  driving,  I  soon 
found  the  long-vamp,  pointed  toe  not  only  a 
nuisance,  but  dangerous,  and  used  an  old- 
fashioned,  round-toed  low  shoe.  Hats !  There 
every  woman  is  a  law  unto  herself.  We  each 
had  a  good-looking  hat  in  the  hat-bag,  which, 
after  being  tied  to  the  rug-rail,  sat  on, 
smashed  by  the  bags,  and  wet  a  few  times, 
still  kept  our  hats  very  presentable.  Straw 
hats  will  break  and  be  ruined.  Those  made  of 
ribbon  or  black  satin  will  withstand  the 
weight  of  a  ton  of  luggage  and  come  out 
looking  fairly  decent.  Wash  gloves  proved 
practical,  also  white  Shetland  veils.  Toodles 
was  swathed  like  an  escaped  harem  beauty; 
but  one  good  Shetland  veil,  well  tied  and 
pinned  in,  kept  my  sailor  hat  in  place  com 
fortably,  even  when  the  top  was  down  and  I 
was  driving.  The  hat  with  a  brim  is  a  neces 
sity  when  the  sun  shines  for  weeks  at  a  time. 
I  did  not  wear  motor  goggles,  but  the  others 
did.  Through  all  the  Western  states  we  found 
the  female  population  in  khaki  breeches  and 


46  IT  MIGHT  HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

puttees,  khaki  blouses,  and  hats  like  a  sun- 
bonnet  or  a  cowboy's  sombrero,  and  occa 
sionally  a  coat  to  match,  which  was  short  and 
of  a  most  unbecoming  length.  Often  high  tan 
boots  were  substituted  for  the  puttees.  It 
was  a  sensible  costume,  and  well  adapted  to 
the  country  and  life  in  the  open  that  Western 
women  lead.  They  all  rode  astride,  wisely. 
Often  we  met  parties  of  four  in  a  Ford  just 
hitting  the  high  spots  on  the  road. 

The  farther  we  went  into  the  real  West, 
the  West  of  the  movies  and  the  early  days 
pictured  by  Bret  Harte,  we  realized  what 
part  these  Western  women  had  played,  and 
were  still  playing,  in  their  unselfish,  brave, 
industrious,  vital  lives,  in  the  opening  and  de 
veloping  of  that  vast  territory,  and  in  mak 
ing  such  a  trip  as  ours  comfortable,  safe,  and 
even  possible.  I  think,  if  I  ever  take  the  trip 
again,  I  shall  adopt  khaki  breeches,  and  send 
my  petticoats  by  express  to  our  destination. 
This  reminds  me  that  I  have  not  spoken  of 
our  trunks.  Nine  out  of  ten  people  that  we 
have  met  in  San  Francisco  have  asked,"  What 
became  of  your  trunks,  or  didn't  you  have 
any?"  Before  leaving  New  York  we  sent, 
collect,  by  American  Railway  Express,  a 


CLOTHES,   LUGGAGE,   AND  THE   CAR       47 

large  wardrobe  trunk,  the  usual  steamer 
trunk,  and  a  French  hat-box  to  San  Francis 
co,  "Hold  until  claimed."  These  were  held 
for  seven  weeks,  and  the  total  expense,  deliv 
ered  to  our  hotel,  was  $45.50 — not  at  all  bad. 

No  matter  of  what  material  your  clothes 
are  made,  a  long  motor  trip  ruins  them.  It  is 
a  large  expense  to  get  them  pressed,  and  a 
small  electric  iron  answers  the  purpose.  It 
takes  up  but  little  space — every  small  hotel 
is  equipped  with  electricity — and  you  appear 
sans  creases  and  wrinkles.  Don't  do  as  one 
friend  did,  who  put  it  in  her  traveling  case 
with  her  bottles.  One  good  bump  did  the  bus 
iness,  and  when  she  took  it  out  "the  mess  of 
tooth-powder,  cold  cream,  sunburn  lotion, 
and  broken  glass  was  enough  to  spoil  my 
trip."  Her  stock  was  soon  replenished.  In 
every  small  town  across  the  continent,  with 
out  one  exception,  we  found  the  Rexall  drugs 
and  articles  for  sale;  even  when  the  town 
failed  to  boast  of  a  ten-cent  store,  Dr.  Rexall 
was  on  hand.  It  struck  us  as  very  remark 
able,  and  was  most  convenient  many  times. 

The  one  article  that  I  regretted  not  bring 
ing  was  a  good  camera.  When  all  our  friends 
said,  "Of  course,  you  will  take  a  camera,"  my 


48  IT   MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

husband  replied,  that  he  wouldn't  be  both 
ered  with  one ;  "they  are  a  perfect  nuisance." 
That  may  be  true,  and  the  camera  did  not  go 
touring;  but  some  incidents  that  occurred 
cannot  be  adequately  pictured  in  words — one 
in  particular,  our  encounter  with  bears!  Of 
this  I  shall  speak  later. 

And  now,  of  the  car !  I  wished  my  husband, 
who  had  all  the  care  of  the  car,  to  write  his 
chapter.  "Every  man  knows  what  to  take, 
and  how  to  care  for  his  car,  and  there  is  no 
use  giving  any  advice."  Perhaps  he  will — he 
has! 

BY  T.  G.  M.  (UNDER  PROTEST) 

The  authoress  demands  that  I,  a  mere  hub 
by,  include  a  few  chirps  of  advice  and  what 
nots  to  the  intrepid  masculine  persuasion 
who  drives  his  own  car  and  contemplates  the 
trip  across.  You  will  first  undoubtedly  think 
of  wearing  apparel,  and  pass  those  attractive 
window  displays  in  your  home  city,  with 
Claude  in  a  lovely  green  plush  hunting  suit 
and  Myrtle  in  a  rakish  hat,  leather  coat,  and 
white  shoes!  Don't  succumb,  but  take  your 
old  "comfy"  gray  golf  or  outing  suit,  with 
extra  trousers,  two  caps,  a  medium-weight 


CLOTHES,   LUGGAGE,   AND  THE   CAR       49 

overcoat,  a  stout  pair  of  driving-gloves,  a 
half-dozen  golf  shirts  with  short  sleeves 
(these  are  a  joy  for  hot- weather  driving  and 
working  around  the  car), a  long  pongee  dust- 
coat,  and  one  extra  suit  for  emergencies. 
Your  "soup  and  fish"  may  better  be  left  at 
home,  unless  you  plan  a  stay  in  some  city. 
One  scarcely  ever  sees  evening  dress  about 
the  hotels  in  the  West,  especially  among  tour 
ists,  and  never  among  their  distant  cousins, 
the  "Fordists." 

For  the  car,  I  should  carry  a  wire  cable,  a 
tow-line,  a  spool  of  annealed  wire,  six  extra 
spark-plugs,  two  spare  mounted  shoes,  an 
extra  tube,  a  valve,  and  a  valve-spring.  Be 
provided  with  an  engine-driven  tire-pump,  a 
roll  of  tape,  a  tube-repair  kit  (Lowe's  is  a 
good  one),  and  a  twelve-inch  Stillson  pipe 
wrench,  which  you  may  find  a  life-saver  in  an 
hour  of  despair.  Of  course,  you  will  have  oil 
and  grease-guns,  a  pound  of  grease,  and  plen 
ty  of  soft  old  cloths  (which  are  preferable  to 
waste),  and  your  regular  equipment  of  tools. 

Our  first  puncture  was  a  nightmare.  The 
car  was  heavily  loaded  with  fourteen  pieces 
of  baggage,  four  spare  tires,  etc.,  and  it  taxed 
my  vocabulary  and  my  moral  and  physical 


5O  IT   MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

strength  to  raise  that  right  rear  wheel.  Next 
day  I  acquired  a  T.  C.  (or  traveling  compan 
ion)  that  never  left  me — a  nice  scraggly  four- 
by-six  wood  block  about  thirty  inches  long, 
chamfered  at  one  end.  Of  course,  the  next 
puncture  was  also  a  rear- wheel  tire — this 
time  the  left  one;  but  here  was  where  T.  C. 
came  in.  I  wedged  the  chamfered  end  of  T.  C. 
under  and  ahead  of  said  tire,  started  the  en 
gine,  and  advanced  the  car  until  it  rode  the 
block,  then  put  the  jack  under  the  rear  axle 
and  took  the  car-weight  off  the  block,  pulled 
out  the  block,  changed  the  tire,  pushed  the 
car  off  the  jack — and  presto!  there  it  was, 
ready  for  the  road,  and  not  even  a  hair 
mussed.  T.  C.  is  my  friend ! 

By  all  means  acquire  honestly  (surrep 
titiously,  if  you  must)  a  waterproof  khaki 
tarpaulin  about  eight  feet  by  five.  You  will 
find  this  invaluable  to  cover  the  spot  where 
you  must  kneel  or  lie  to  fix  things  when  Old 
Father  Fate  hands  you  a  puncture  or  other 
kill-joy. 

Cord  tires  are  also  worth  your  while;  they 
not  only  wear  much  better,  and  stand  up  un 
der  heat  and  sand,  but  you  can  safely  carry  a 
low  tire-pressure.  Our  car  weighed  close  to 


CLOTHES,   LUGGAGE,   AND  THE   CAR       51 

five  thousand  pounds,  but  we  carried  only 
fifty -five  to  sixty  pounds  pressure.  This 
makes  for  comfortable  riding,  reduces  your 
chances  of  a  broken  spring,  and  eases  the 
pain  when  bucking  the  deadly  chuck-holes 
that  look  so  harmless  but  feel  much  worse 
than  you  anticipate — yes,  much  worse ! 

We  preferred  the  gas  sold  by  the  service 
stations  of  reliable  oil  companies,  and,  in  the 
main,  found  it  much  better  and  cheaper  than 
the  average  garage  gas — and,  between 
friends,  more  accurately  measured. 

The  tire-service  stations  are  provided  with 
handy  local  maps,  and  between  them  and  the 
garages  you  can  get  the  best  information 
relative  to  the  roads  in  general,  and  particu 
larly  detours,  the  motorists'  bugbear.  Road 
conditions  often  change  entirely  in  a  few 
days,  and,  outside  of  guiding  you  along  the 
main  traveled  routes,  the  Blue  Book  ordinar 
ily  is  not  of  much  assistance.  For  setting-up 
exercises,  every  morning  I  tested  my  tire- 
pressure,  turned  down  all  grease-cups,  looked 
over  steering  mechanism,  rear  axle,  drive- 
shaft,  brakes  and  spring  shackles,  and,  as  a 
result,  we  came  through  with  flying  colors, 
without  the  slightest  accident,  and  our  car 


52  IT   MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

runs  better  now  than  when  we  started,  4154 
miles  away. 

It  may  be  of  interest  to  speak  further  of 
the  gas,  for,  as  an  item  of  expense,  and  your 
greatest  necessity,  you  have  to  consider  it. 
We  saw  no  Socony  gas  after  leaving  Chica 
go;  the  Red  Crown  gas  had  taken  its  place. 
There  were  a  dozen  other  makes — Union, 
Iroquois,  Shell,  Associated,  etc.,  ranging  in 
price  from  twenty  to  forty  cents  a  gallon. 
Every  town  and  many  grocery-stores  on  the 
road  could  supply  you.  As  our  tank  held 
twenty-one  gallons,  not  once  did  we  have  to 
carry  extra  gas.  The  longest  stretch  was 
seventy  miles  without  gas  for  sale.  Of  course, 
you  get  less  mileage  in  the  high  altitudes, 
and  the  radiator  needs  to  be  filled  several 
times  a  day. 

We  carried  an  extra  can  of  water,  with  our 
drinking-bottles  filled,  through  the  highest 
mountain  country  and  in  the  desert;  other 
wise,  the  town  pump  was  easily  found.  We 
had  four  spare  shoes,  but  used  only  one.  Two 
punctures  from  New  York  to  California  is  a 
record  to  bring  joy  to  any  motor  heart.  Twice 
we  picked  up  nails,  and  once  some  joker 
stuck  a  long  pin  into  a  tire.  Dr.  B.,  of  Bronx- 


CLOTHES,   LUGGAGE,   AND  THE   CAR       53 

ville,  New  York,  advised  us  to  have  a  Yale 
lock  put  on  either  side  of  the  hood  of  the  en 
gine,  remarking,  "Those  rubes  in  country 
garages  are  mighty  inquisitive,  and  have  no 
love  for  city  cars.  I  have  had  my  carburetor 
monkeyed  with  many  times."  We  took  his 
advice  and  saved  ourselves  a  lot  of  trouble. 
In  the  East  we  paid  $1.50  for  a  night's  stor 
age  in  a  garage.  Through  the  West  we  have 
paid  as  low  as  fifty  cents.  Our  total  mileage, 
the  amount  of  gas  and  oil  used,  and  the  cost 
of  each,  with  the  garage  expenses,  I  will  give 
later. 

I  must  add  that,  except  for  cleaning  the 
spark-plugs,  we  had  no  engine  trouble,  and 
the  car  arrived  in  perfectly  good  shape  in 
California. 


VII 

THE  TWIN  CITIES  AND  TEN  THOUSAND  LAKES 

AUGUST  6th  and  7th  we  spent  in  St.  Paul,  at 
the  first-class  St.  Paul  Hotel — a  perfect  joy ! 
Our  stay  here  was  filled  with  interest.  The 
capitol  building  is  a  noble  pile.  Summit  Av 
enue  boasts  of  many  beautiful  homes,  but  the 
business  life  is  fast  overtaking  it.  Minneapo 
lis  is  such  a  close  neighbor  that  we  could  not 
tell  where  one  city  began  and  the  other  left 
off.  Here  cousins  took  us  to  the  Athletic  Club 
for  lunch,  in  as  beautiful  a  cafe  as  we  have 
seen.  A  bounteous  luncheon  was  served  for 
sixty  cents  that  we  would  have  paid  at  least 
two  dollars  for  in  New  York.  This  was  our 
last  feast  on  broiled  whitefish.  As  we  were  all 
chatting  over  our  trip,  a  crash  as  of  broken 
china  brought  us  to  a  pause.  "What  in  Heav 
en's  name  is  that?"  we  exclaimed.  "Oh,  just 
the  boys  in  the 'training' cafe,  having  a  hurry- 
up  lunch,"  laughed  our  host.  On  the  many 
floors  men  were  spending  their  noon-hour 
exercising  and  keeping  themselves  fit. 

We  drove  out  to  the  famous  summer  re- 


TWIN  CITIES  AND  THE  LAKES  55 

sort,  Lake  Minnetonka,  picturesque  and 
edged  with  lovely  summer  homes.  Near  by 
were  the  Minnehaha  Falls,  known  to  all  Long 
fellow  lovers,  and  the  Fort  Snelling  reserva 
tion,  where  the  sturdy  pioneers  defended 
their  lives  in  the  old  round  tower  and  block 
house.  By  far  the  most  attractive  spot  we 
visited  was  Christmas  Lake,  seventeen  miles 
out  of  town,  where  the  Radisson  Inn  nestles 
in  the  woods,  quite  hidden  from  the  highway. 
No  private  villa  could  be  more  lovely.  In  the 
large  dining-room,  which  was  really  a  sun- 
parlor,  each  table  had  its  own  color-scheme, 
with  vines  and  wild  flowers.  Plants,  ferns, 
vines,  and  flowers  growing  everywhere  in  the 
most  original  baskets  and  boxes  made  of 
twigs,  bark,  or  moss.  We  all  stood  exclaim 
ing,  like  a  lot  of  children,  "Isn't  it  adorable?" 
— "Oh,  my  dear,  do  look  at  this  Indian  rug!" 
— "Where  did  they  get  this  willow  furni 
ture?" — "Altman  never  had  such  exquisite 
cretonnes!" — "Let's  give  up  the  trip  and 
stop  here!" — and  so  on.  We  were  told  that 
the  table  was  in  keeping  with  the  house,  and 
that  the  place  was  full  all  season.  This  was 
another  high  spot  on  the  trip. 

Still  another  pleasure  was  in  store  for  us — 


56  IT   MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

we  were  to  play  golf  and  dine  at  the  Town 
and  City  Club.  The  club  is  situated  between 
the  two  cities,  near  the  banks  of  the  Missis 
sippi  River.  We  drove  past  before  we  realized 
that  it  was  not  a  private  estate.  Stopping  a 
young  man,  we  asked  where  the  club  was. 
"Got  me  stuck,  Missis;  never  heard  of  it."  A 
small  boy  of  seven  came  up,  and,  with  a  with 
ering  glance  which  took  us  all  in,  waved  his 
arm,  saying,  "Right  before  your  eyes!"  We 
drove  through  lovely  grounds  to  the  club 
house.  Such  gorgeous  old  trees!  —  hedges 
that  made  you  think  of  Devonshire,  lawns 
like  velvet,  and  a  riot  of  color  in  the  beds  and 
borders  —  every  flowering  shrub  and  plant 
you  could  dream  of.  Of  course,  the  links  were 
fine,  and  the  twilight  lasted  until  nearly  nine 
o'clock.  We  had  ordered  dinner  in  advance; 
so  by  a  quarter  to  nine  we  were  seated  at  our 
table,  with  faultless  appointments,  enjoying 
such  a  good  dinner,  and  watching  the  sky 
line  of  Minneapolis,  with  its  church  spires 
and  towering  buildings,  fade  in  the  afterglow 
of  the  sunset.  Not  one  of  us  spoke  as  the  twi 
light  deepened  and  the  stars  came  out;  we 
went  out  on  the  lawn  and  saw  the  new  har 
vest  moon  through  the  trees — a  bit  of  Na- 


TWIN  CITIES  AND  THE  LAKES  57 

ture's  fairyland,  the  memory  of  which  will 
always  stay  with  us. 

Here  we  left  the  Yellowstone  Trail  and 
followed  the  National  Parks  Highway  north 
to  Fargo,  North  Dakota,  265  miles ;  winding 
in  and  out  over  good  roads  through  a  myriad 
of  lakes — ten  thousand,  we  were  told — in 
Minnesota.  Every  mile  of  the  way,  as  far  as 
the  eye  could  see,  were  acres  of  potatoes, 
corn,  and  wheat,  fertile  and  green.  If  you 
want  to  visualize  Frank  Norris's  books  and 
understand  how  we  can  feed  starving  Eu 
rope,  motor  through  this  state.  It  was  har 
vest-time.  Great  tractors  were  snorting  like 
live  creatures,  hundreds  of  men  on  the  big 
ranches  were  "bringing  in  the  sheaves,"  the 
country  was  alive  with  action,  and  the  world 
was  to  reap  the  benefit  of  the  toil  and  endless 
energy  of  these  sturdy  men.  You  have  never 
seen  our  country  until  you  have  traveled 
through  this  great  grain-belt.  Every  small 
town  had  two  or  three  grain  elevators.  There 
were  beautiful  fields  of  alfalfa,  a  mass  of 
bloom  with  its  bluish  purple  flower  as  sweet 
as  honey.  As  we  came  near  these  fields,  the 
air  was  always  cool.  We  couldn't  account  for 
it ;  but  it  is  a  strange  fact  that  the  air  is  con- 


58  IT   MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

siderably  cooler  when  you  near  an  alfalfa 
field.  Can  you  see  the  picture?  Lakes  on 
every  side,  as  blue  as  great  sapphires,  spark 
ling  in  the  sun,  the  road  lined  with  the  wild 
sunflowers,  often  forming  a  golden  hedge  on 
either  side  for  miles,  the  blue  mass  of  color 
of  the  alfalfa  fields,  and  above  it  the  green 
corn  and  golden  wheat.  The  magpies  were  in 
flocks,  and  the  seagulls  were  skimming  over 
the  inland  lakes,  hundreds  of  miles  from  any 
large  body  of  water,  and  hundreds  more  of 
them  were  resting  on  the  shores.  Strange, 
was  it  not?  Through  the  West  we  have  noted 
the  absence  of  many  birds,  especially  in  Mon 
tana,  Idaho,  Utah,  and  Nevada.  But  here  the 
crops  were  so  abundant  that  the  little  song 
sters  "had  first  whack  at  the  grain,"  as  my 
husband  remarked.  He  was  the  bird-man  of 
the  party,  and  when  he  was  driving  at  a  top- 
notch  speed  or  turning  a  hairpin  curve  he 
would  calmly  ask,  "Did  you  girls  see  that 
blue  heron?" 

Alexandria,  and  the  hotel  of  the  same 
name,  were  comfortable  beyond  our  hopes. 
The  next  day  we  passed  through  Fergus 
Falls,  where  the  cyclone  of  June  22d  had 
demolished  the  better  part  of  the  town.  It 


TWIN  CITIES  AND  THE  LAKES  5Q 

had  been  a  thriving,  attractive  place  in  the 
heart  of  the  grain-belt,  with  fine  buildings 
and  pretty  homes.  Now,  less  than  two  months 
later,  the  wreck  and  debris  were  appalling. 
The  wind  had  wrought  strange  sights.  We 
saw  a  sewing-machine  in  the  top  of  a  neigh 
bor's  tree,  festooned  with  bedding,  petticoats, 
and  a  bird-cage.  Houses  were  turned  over  as 
if  they  had  been  toys ;  others  were  crushed  to 
kindling.  Here  a  small  tree  or  a  chicken-coop 
would  be  intact,  and  a  building  five  feet  away 
would  be  demolished.  We  stopped  off  for 
lunch  in  a  small  cafe  in  the  part  of  the  town 
that  had  escaped  the  gale.  The  people  were 
talking  of  nothing  else.  The  whole  country 
side  had  driven  in  to  see  it,  to  take  the  suffer 
ers  home,  or  to  render  assistance.  The  wait 
ress  paid  no  attention  to  our  order  —  just 
talked.  "Why,  lady,  it  was  the  awfullest  thing 
you  ever  heard  tell  on !  One  moment  we  were 
all  sitting  at  our  work,  and  then  we  heard  a 
roar  like  a  mad  bull,  or  thunder,  and  the  sky 
got  so  black  that  you  couldn't  see  across  that 
counter.  Windows  smashed  in,  and  this 
house  shook  like  jelly.  Folks  were  blown 
down  that  street  like  old  newspapers. Scared? 
My  Gawd!  we  just  crawled  under  the  coun- 


6O  IT   MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

ter  and  prayed!  The  door  was  blown  in  and 
the  front  window  smashed.  A  little  kid  was 
blown  across  that  street  and  straight  through 
that  broken  glass.  My  maw's  house  was 
shook  to  pieces.  Maw  was  cookin',  and  she 
and  the  stove  went  off  together.  Paw  was 
feedin'  the  cattle;  when  we  found  him  he  was 
lyin'  in  the  next  lot  with  a  cow  a-lyin'  on  top 
of  him  and  a  milkpail  a-coverin'  of  his  head. 
Most  everyone  got  cut  by  the  glass  or  broke 
an  arm  or  leg,  tryin'  to  hold  on  to  somethin'. 
The  piany  in  the  schoolhouse  was  took  up 
and  planted  in  a  street  two  blocks  away  not 
hurt  a  bit.  It  sounds  just  beautiful  now.  Some 
folks  I  know  had  their  two  cats  and  three 
dogs  killed,  and  the  canary  was  a-singin'  like 
mad  when  they  found  the  house  in  the  end  of 
the  garden.  The  wire  fences  were  the  worst ; 
they  just  wound  themselves  up  like  yarn." 
Many  others  told  us  similar  weird  tales.  We 
left  that  town,  already  being  rebuilt,  a  sober 
party. 

"I  wonder  what  would  happen  to  us  if  we 
should  meet  such  a  cyclone,"  said  Toodles. 

"I  think  we  would  'blow  in'  to  lunch  with 
our  friends  in  Boston,"  mused  the  bird-man. 

He  has  given  me  this  list  of  birds  that  we 


TWIN  CITIES  AND  THE  LAKES  6l 

saw  through  the  West:  Mudhens,  bluebirds, 
bluejays,  robins,  ospreys,  cranes,  loons,  terns, 
the  Canada  goose,  song-sparrows,  meadow- 
larks,  hawks,  wild  swans,  woodpeckers,  ori 
oles,  wild  doves,  and  others.  Later  we  saw 
sagehens  and  eagles. 


VIII 

MILLIONS  OF  GRASSHOPPERS 

WE  had  wired  to  our  cousins,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
H.,  of  Fargo,  to  make  a  reservation  for  our 
party,  which  they  did  at  the  Gardner  Hotel. 
We  found  a  big  comfortable  hotel,  with 
large  rooms,  good  table,  and  excellent  ser 
vice.  We  enjoyed  our  "stop  off"  of  two  days 
here  more  than  in  any  other  city  on  our  trip. 
Fargo  spells  hospitality  and  "pep."  Our 
greeting  was,  "What  can  we  do  for  you?" 

"Find  the  Packard  service  station,  give  us 
some  home-cooking,  and  let  us  play  golf  and 
tennis." 

"There  are  only  two  Packard  cars  in  town, 
but  the  manager  of  the  garage  owns  one  and 
can  help  you  out." 

He  did — kind,  obliging  person!  Our  sec 
ond  request  was  granted  to  the  full.  Never 
did  fried  chicken  and  creamed  potatoes  cov 
ered  with  gravy  taste  so  good.  We  went  back 
the  next  day  and  finished  up  the  rest  of  the 
chicken.  After  driving  about  this  charming 
"up-to-tomorrow"  Western  city,  we  went  out 


MILLIONS    OF   GRASSHOPPERS  63 

to  the  Country  Club  and  the  links,  and  met 
many  truly  delightful  people. 

Western  people  in  the  same  walk  of  life  as 
your  friends  at  home  are  traveled,  cultured, 
broad-minded,  most  interesting  people.  I  was 
especially  impressed  by  the  women.  They 
think  for  themselves  on  the  public  questions 
of  the  hour,  and  voice  their  opinions  in  no 
uncertain  terms.  As  Philip  Gibbs  said  in  his 
article  in  Harper's  ("Some  People  I  met  in 
America"),  "Desperately  earnest  about  the 
problems  of  Peace,  intrigued  to  the  point  of 
passion  about  the  policy  of  President  Wilson, 
divided  hopelessly  in  ideals  and  convictions, 
so  that  husbands  and  wives  had  to  declare  a 
No  Man's  Land  between  their  conflicting 
views/'  It  is  so  in  our  family.  My  brother  has 
expressed  it  aptly:  "President  Wilson  is  a 
state  of  mind.  You  are  all  for  him,  or  not  at 
all."  But  Heaven  help  me  to  keep  politics  out 
of  this  peaceful  narrative ! 

We  found  many  golfers  ahead  of  us.  Mrs. 
W.,  the  chairman  of  the  house  committee, 
and  especial  hostess  of  the  day,  played  with 
us.  She  played,  as  all  Western  women  enter 
into  everything,  with  enthusiasm.  The  course 
was  flat,  easy,  and  of  nine  holes. 


64  IT   MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

But  the  grasshoppers!  I  had  seen  plenty 
of  them  on  the  trip  while  going  through 
the  farming  country.  They  would  jump  into 
the  car,  take  a  ride  on  the  hood  or  windshield, 
get  on  your  veil  or  down  your  neck,  or  collect 
in  family  parties  on  the  luggage  or  in  your 
lap;  but  that  was  utter  isolation  compared  to 
the  crop  on  those  links.  The  seventeen-year 
locust  had  nothing  on  these  grasshoppers !  On 
the  fairway,  when  you  hit  your  ball,  hundreds 
would  fly  up  in  a  cloud  and  your  ball  was  lost 
to  sight.  You  walked  on  a  carpet  of  them.  It 
reminded  you  of  "the  slaughter  of  the  inno 
cents."  Your  clothes  were  covered  with  them. 
When  I  sat  down  at  the  third  tee,  I  heard  a 
crunching  noise,  unlike  anything  I  ever  ex 
perienced.  Mrs.  W.  called  out — alas !  too  late 
— "Oh,  you  mustn't  sit  down  until  you  shake 
the  grasshoppers  out  of  your  skirts.  You  will 
ruin  your  clothes."  That  white  satin  skirt  has 
been  boiled,  parboiled,  dry-cleaned,  and  hung 
in  the  sun,  but  the  back  looks  bilious  and 
pea-green  in  spots !  When  I  got  back  to  the 
hotel,  I  found  them  inside  of  my  blouse  and 
under-linen,  and  even  in  my  hair  and  shoes. 
It  is  fortunate  that  they  did  not  bite,  or  some 
one  else  would  be  writing  this  tale. 


MILLIONS  OF  GRASSHOPPERS  65 

After  real  afternoon  tea,  with  toast,  hot 
biscuits,  and  sandwiches  (not  our  ice-cream 
cones),  we  drove  back  to  the  city  and  dined 
and  talked  until  the  lights  were  put  out  in 
the  hotel  and  the  elevator  man  had  gone  to 
sleep.  We  were  told  of  the  fine  roads  through 
North  Dakota,  "but  not  in  bad  weather;  then 
you  will  have  to  reckon  with  the  gumbo." 
"Gumbo"  is  described  by  Webster  as  "soup, 
composed  of  okra,  tomatoes,  etc."  But  that 
learned  gentleman  never  drove  after  a  rain 
storm  in  North  Dakota. 

The  next  morning  the  sky  looked  threaten 
ing,  but  we  started  out  for  Jamestown,  one 
hundred  miles  away.  All  went  well  until 
noon,  when  a  gentle  drizzle  set  in,  and  we 
put  up  the  top,  stopped  under  a  big  tree,  had 
our  lunch,  and  waited  until  the  supposed 
shower  was  over.  Farther  west  it  had 
poured;  we  noticed  that  the  cars  coming  in 
were  covered  with  mud,  and  concluded  that 
they  had  come  over  country  roads.  Surely 
not  the  National  Parks  Highway!  So  down 
went  the  top,  and  off  we  started  in  a  wet  at 
mosphere,  but  not  really  raining.  The  chains 
had  not  been  disturbed  since  they  were  com 
fortably  stowed  away  on  leaving  New  York. 


66  IT   MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

One  man  advised  us  to  put  them  on,  but  with 
a  superior  don't-believe-we-will-need-them 
air  we  left  our  tree  shelter.  He  called  out  after 
us,  "Say,  strangers,  you  don't  know  what 
you  all  are  getting  into."  We  didn't,  but  we 
jolly  soon  found  out !  In  ten  minutes  we  had 
met  gumbo,  and  were  sliding,  swirling,  floun 
dering  about  in  a  sea  of  mud!  I  will  try  to 
describe  it.  A  perfectly  solid  (apparently) 
clay  road  can  become  as  soft  as  melted  but 
ter  in  an  hour.  Try  to  picture  a  narrow  road, 
with  deep  ditches,  and  just  one  track  of  ruts, 
covered  with  flypaper,  vaseline,  wet  soap, 
molasses  candy  (hot  and  underdone),  mire, 
and  any  other  soft,  sticky,  slippery,  hellish 
mess  that  could  be  mixed  —  and  even  that 
would  not  be  gumbo ! 

"Thank  God  for  the  ruts!"  we  devoutedly 
exclaimed.  If  you  once  got  out  of  the  ruts, 
your  car  acted  as  if  it  were  drunk.  It  slid, 
zigzagged,  slithered,  first  headed  for  one 
ditch,  and  then  slewed  across  the  road.  It 
acted  as  if  bewitched.  We  had  passed  several 
cars  abandoned  in  the  ditch,  and  those  ahead 
of  us,  even  with  chains  on,  were  doing  a  new 
version  of  a  fox  trot.  The  road  grew  worse, 
the  mire  deeper.  The  ruts  were  now  so  deep 


MILLIONS  OF  GRASSHOPPERS  67 

that  we  just  crawled  along,  and,  to  prevent 
getting  stalled,  we  pulled  out  of  them.  In  a 
shorter  time  than  it  takes  to  write  it,  our  left 
front  wheel  was  down  in  the  ditch  and  the 
car  lying  across  the  road,  and  stuck  fast. 
That  was  all  that  prevented  us  from  being 
ditched.  There  we  were,  unable  to  move.  We 
had  not  tried  to  walk  in  gumbo.  That  was  an 
added  experience.  All  three  of  us  got  out  to 
see  what  could  be  done.  It  would  be  impos 
sible  to  jack  the  car  up  there  and  put  on  the 
chains;  the  jack  would  have  sunk  out  of 
sight.  And  no  car  could  pass  us.  Your  feet 
stuck  in  the  gumbo  so  that  when  you  pulled 
up  one  foot  a  mass  of  mire  as  large  as  a  mar 
ket-basket  stuck  to  it,  or  your  shoe  came  off, 
and  you  frantically  slid  and  floundered 
around  until  you  got  it  on  again.  We  thought 
of  a  dozen  clever  things  to  do,  if  we  could 
only  have  walked.  There  was  a  farmhouse 
half  a  mile  ahead  where  no  doubt  we  could 
have  hired  a  team  to  pull  us  out.  But  how 
could  we  get  there?  My  sympathies  are  all 
with  the  fly  caught  on  sticky  flypaper!  In  a 
short  time,  a  Dodge  car  came  up  back  of  us, 
a  man  driving  it,  with  his  wife,  his  son,  a  boy 
of  fifteen,  and  a  small  girl.  Being  a  light  car 


68  IT   MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

in  comparison,  and  having  chains  on,  they 
fared  better;  but  they  could  not  pass.  They 
offered  to  pull  us  back  onto  the  road.  Fortu 
nately  we  had  brought  a  wire  cable  with  us. 
This  was  attached  to  both  cars,and  then  both 
tried  to  back.  Did  we  budge?  No  such  luck! 
All  hands  got  to  work,  sliding  around  like 
drunken  sailors,  and  filled  in  back  of  our 
wheels  with  stones,  sticks,  cornstalks,  and 
dry  grass.  After  being  stuck  there  just  one 
hour,  we  got  back  onto  the  road  and  into  the 
ruts,  and  slowly  we  crawled  up  to  the  top  of 
a  hill,  where  some  guiding  angel  had  scat 
tered  ashes  and  sand.  We  got  to  a  dry,  grassy 
spot,  where  a  sadder  and  wiser  driver  put  on 
the  chains.  How  did  we  get  there,  Toodles 
and  I  ?  Those  blessed  Dodge  people  invited  us 
to  stand  on  their  running-boards  while  they 
crawled  up  the  hill.  Later  we  overtook  them 
having  tire  troubles,  and  we  were  glad  to  be 
able  to  return  their  kindness.  The  next  lovely 
job  was  to  clean  our  shoes.  Nothing  can  stick 
worse  than  gumbo,  and  we  had  been  soaked 
in  it.  Needless  to  say  that  our  shoes  were 
ruined,  but  we  were  lucky  it  was  not  the  car. 
So,  with  care,  and  crawling  about  five 
miles  an  hour,  still  slipping  and  sliding  like 


MILLIONS  OF  GRASSHOPPERS  69 

eels,  we  covered  the  forty  miles  into  James 
town.  The  hotel  dining-room  was  closed,  and 
we  had  supper  in  a  Chinese  restaurant,  then 
went  to  have  our  shoes  cleaned  in  what  had 
been  before  July  ist  a  typical  Western  sa 
loon.  It  was  filled  with  miners  and  cowboys 
playing  billiards,  and  a  villainous  automatic 
piano  playing  rag-time.  We  sat  up  in  the 
chairs  while  a  "China-boy"  dug  at  the  gum 
bo,  now  hard  as  stone.  One  Westerner  stood 
there  taking  us  all  in,  and  drawled,  "You 
folks  must  have  struck  gumbo."  We  had; 
but  then  again — "It  might  have  been  worse." 


IX 

THE  BAD  LANDS  -  "NATURE'S  FREAKIEST  MOOD" 


now  on  we  experienced  the  real 
thrills,  the  discomforts,  and  the  wonders  of 
our  trip.  Will  the  Eastern  people  (or  the  rest 
of  our  country)  ever  realize  the  debt  of  grati 
tude  that  we  owe  to  those  early  pioneers  — 
the  men  who  blazed  the  trails  across  the  wil 
derness,  suffering  every  privation,  facing  in 
conceivable  dangers,  and  many  dying  of  cold 
and  starvation?  As  we  studied  our  map  and 
saw  those  hundreds  of  miles  ahead  of  us, 
through  the  bad  lands,  over  the  dry  Montana 
plains,  through  the  desert,  and  over  the 
Rocky  Mountains,  I  admit  that  it  seemed  like 
the  end  of  the  world,  and  a  million  miles  from 
home  —  almost  a  foolhardy  undertaking! 
Then  we  felt  ashamed  of  ourselves.  With  a 
good  car,  and  all  of  us  in  prime  condition,  we 
left  old  gumbo  and  fears  behind,  and  made  a 
fresh  start.  The  big  towns  are  one  hundred 
miles  apart.  Governor  H.  had  told  us  not  td 
stop  in  Bismarck,  a  fine  big  city,  but  to  go 
across  the  Little  Missouri  River  to  Mandan, 


THE  BAD   LANDS  71 

sixteen  miles  farther  on.  Bismarck's  fine  ho 
tels  and  cement  pavements  were  a  great 
temptation  to  stop,  but  our  hopes  were  more 
than  realized.  This  river,  like  all  of  these 
Western  rivers,  once  navigable  by  big  boats, 
was  so  low  that  teams  were  driving  across  in 
many  places.  When  we  reached  the  ferry  we 
found  a  tiny  steamer  with  paddle-wheels  at 
the  stern  waiting  for  us.  It  held  two  small 
cars  beside  ours.  On  the  other  side  a  cordu 
roy  road  had  been  built  out  over  what  had 
been  the  bed  of  the  river  at  least  a  quarter  of 
a  mile,  so  that  the  ferry  could  land.  The  rest 
of  the  way  was  through  pine  woods. 

Mandan  is  a  beautiful  city,  with  the  new 
Lewis  and  Clark  Hotel,  owned  by  Governor 
H.  It  was  crowded,  but  when  we  showed  the 
clerk  Governor  H.'s  signature  we  were  given 
his  private  suite.  Remember  that  we  had  been 
coming  over  the  plains  for  a  hundred  miles, 
and  you  can  share  our  joy  to  walk  into  a 
Fifth  Avenue  hotel,  with  a  Ritz-Carlton  suite 
to  revel  in.  This  was  where  extremes  met.  It 
was  wonderful  that  it  was  so  beautiful.  It 
was  really  more  wonderful  that  it  was  there 
at  all. 

The  next  day  we  went  through  another 


72  IT   MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

hundred  miles  of  cattle  and  grain  ranches. 
We  were  told  that  these  towns,  a  hundred 
miles  apart,  had  been  trading-posts  and  stage- 
stops  in  the  early  days.  Dickinson,  Glendive, 
Miles  City,  and  Billings,  Montana,  are  all 
fine,  thriving  cities — excellent  modern  hotels, 
wide  paved  streets,  fine  churches,  stores,  of 
fice  buildings,  and  theaters,  not  overlooking 
the  movie  houses.  In  passing,  J  wish  to  speak 
of  the  movies — a  national,  educational  insti 
tution,  to  be  reckoned  with.  If  we  were  not 
too  dead  tired  after  a  scrub,  change  of 
clothes,  and  dinner,  we  went  to  a  movie  and 
saw  excellent  pictures  and  the  world's  doings 
to  date.  Usually  there  were  plenty  of  electric 
fans,  and  always  one  big  "paddle"  fan  outside 
the  front  entrance.  This  we  found  the  case 
with  banks,  office  buildings,  and  shops. 
(Solve  that  if  you  can!)  In  many  dozens  of 
canaries  were  singing  a  jubilee.  There  was 
always  a  large  clock  in  full  view  of  the  audi 
ence — another  sensible  idea.  These  cities 
were  equipped  with  every  modern  device  and 
invention.  They  claimed  your  admiration  and 
deserved  your  unstinted  praise.  It  was  al 
most  impossible  to  believe  that  the  next 
morning,  ten  minutes  after  you  left  the  pave- 


THE  BAD   LANDS  73 

ments,  you  would  again  be  out  on  the  prai 
ries,  and  perhaps  meet  no  one  for  hours. 

At  Dickinson,  North  Dakota,  we  found  the 
St.  Charles  Hotel  very  good.  We  had  been 
told  to  have  lunch  the  next  day  in  Medora, 
at  the  Rough  Riders  Hotel,  one  of  the  few 
buildings  left  of  the  early  cowboy  days.  The 
town  is  nothing — a  new  school  and  store  and 
a  handful  of  old  buildings.  It  is  quite  near 
the  ranch  where  Colonel  Roosevelt  lived  for 
two  years.  They  instantly  tell  you  that  with 
real  pride,  for  these  people  loved  the  man  as 
they  knew  him.  Like  the  buffalo,  the  pictur 
esque  cowboy  is  almost  extinct.  On  the  big 
cattle  ranches  we  saw  near  cowboys — boys  in 
their  teens  herding  the  cattle,  and  some  ordi 
nary,  dirty-looking  men  on  horses.  There 
were  half  a  dozen  men  eating  noon  dinner  at 
the  hotel(?),  a  tumble-down  old  building 
about  as  romantic  as  any  old  woodshed.  One 
grizzly  old  fellow  was  pointed  out  as  having 
been  a  guide  for  the  Colonel.  The  place  was 
dirty,  the  food  impossible,  greasy  and  cold, 
and  the  few  bullet-holes  in  the  far-famed  bar 
were  not  sufficient  to  make  this  member  of 
the  party  rave  over  the  place.  It  seemed  like 
a  travesty,  or  a  ghost  of  some  former  exist- 


74  IT   MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

ence.  You  may  infer  that  we  did  not  care  for 
Medora! 

For  the  next  hour  we  climbed  steadily  up, 
the  roads  growing  narrow  and  rocky  and  full 
of  chuck-holes.  Everything  that  is  rough  and 
bad  going  in  the  Far  West  is  "chucky,"  and 
we  were  soon  to  get  acquainted  with  real 
chuck-holes.  Presently  we  came  out  on  a  pla 
teau,  and  before  us  lay  the  Bad  Lands  of 
North  Dakota.  You  may  read  of  them,  see 
pictures  of  them,  or  see  them  from  a  train, 
but  you  have  never  really  seen  their  wonder, 
their  grotesquely  beautiful  grandeur,  until 
you  stand  in  their  midst  as  we  did.  High 
cliffs,  deep  canyons,  queer  formations  of 
stone  and  earth  that  look  like  great  castles  or 
human  heads.  Again  they  resemble  mush 
rooms  of  mammoth  size,  in  all  colors — gray, 
pink,  orange,  black,  greens  of  a  dull  hue  (not 
from  the  verdure,  for  there  is  none  to  speak 
of),  yellows,  and  even  purplish  and  chalky 
white.  Here  again  you  can  see  the  outline  of 
some  giant  creature,  as  if  it  had  been  carved 
in  a  prehistoric  age.  We  are  told  that  the  sea 
once  covered  these  lands.  You  can  plainly 
see  the  ridges,  like  a  rock  on  the  ocean  shore 
where  the  water  has  receded.  I  suppose  they 


THE  BAD   LANDS  75 

are  called  the  Bad  Lands  because  they  are 
arid  and  nothing  will  grow.  They  are  the 
wonderlands  of  this  country — geological 
wonders,  left  from  some  glacial  period  be 
fore  the  foot  of  man  trod  the  earth.  No  pen 
can  adequately  describe  that  scene;  no  brush 
could  do  justice  to  its  weird  beauty.  The  still 
ness  of  death  reigned.  Not  a  bird  or  a  living 
creature  did  we  see.  The  way  winds  around 
these  strange  cliffs,  now  up  a  steep  incline, 
where  you  look  down  at  the  road  below, 
again  in  the  bottom  of  a  ravine  or  chuck- 
hole,  and  you  wonder  how  you  could  drive 
the  car  either  down  or  up  again. 

"Did  you  ever  see  anything  like  this,  any 
where?" 

"No,  but  it  looks  like  what  I  imagine  the 
bottom  of  hell  must  look  like." 

All  that  day  we  drove  in  and  out,  with  an 
ever-changing  panorama  of  fantastic  shapes 
and  colors.  We  were  awed,  thrilled  to  our 
very  marrow,  and  even  now,  weeks  later,  as 
I  write  of  it,  I  realize  that  my  hands  are  cold. 
Believe  me,  my  friends,  this  is  the  acid  test 
of  driving.  If  you  qualified,  well  and  good; 
but  if  you  lost  your  nerve  or  your  head — a 
long  good-night,  and  a  perfectly  good  funer- 


76  IT   MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

al!  Glendive,  Montana,  and  the  comfortable 
Jordan  Annex  looked  human  and  mighty 
good  to  us  that  night.  We  all  admitted  that 
we  were  scared  half  to  death.  But,  oh,  the 
wonder  and  majesty  of  that  sight!  We  blessed 
our  good  car,  we  blessed  our  Maker,  and  we 
slept  as  if  we  had  been  drugged. 


THE  DUST  OF  MONTANA 

IGOR  Montana!  Burned,  scorched  to  ashes 
from  four  summers  of  drought,  and  no  rain 
in  six  months!  Everywhere  the  people  told 
us  the  same  story.  The  rivers  and  streams 
were  dry  as  bones.  "Don't  stop  here  for  wa 
ter"  was  a  familiar  sign.  We  met  hundreds 
of  families  driving  out,  in  old  "prairie-schoon 
ers,"  with  all  their  household  furniture  and 
their  cattle.  These  poor  souls  had  to  find  wa 
ter  for  their  cattle  and  themselves.  They  had 
tried  to  raise  crops,  and  were  literally  driven 
out. The  children  looked  pinched  and  starved. 
The  women  and  men  were  the  color  of  leath 
er,  tanned  by  the  scorching  sun  of  the  plains, 
the  dust,  and  the  dry,  hot  winds.  They  had 
lost  everything.  Their  faces  were  pathos  per 
sonified.  It  wrung  your  heart  to  see  them. 
We  always  slowed  down  and  waved  to  them, 
and  often  stopped  and  talked.  It  was  rare  to 
get  a  smile  from  even  the  children.  When 
we  would  give  some  little  kiddie  an  orange, 
it  was  the  pathetic  mother  who  tried  to  smile. 


78  IT  MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

Before  we  had  covered  the  four  hundred 
miles  across  the  state,  our  faces  were  burned, 
our  lips  so  dry  and  cracked  that  they  bled, 
and  our  eyes  nearly  burned  out  of  our  heads. 
Yet  we  had  but  a  few  days  of  it,  and  they  had 
suffered  for  four  summers!  At  night  we 
would  soak  our  hands  and  faces  in  cold  cream, 
but  the  next  night  they  were  quite  as  bad. 
The  dust  was  from  six  to  eight  inches  deep, 
and  the  roads  were  either  through  sand  or 
chucky.  We  know  now  why  Lohr  named  his 
song  "My  Little  Gray  Home  in  the  West." 
It  could  not  possibly  have  been  any  other 
color.  A  dozen  times  we  thought  our  springs 
were  gone.  The  road  looked  like  a  level 
stretch  of  dust;  then  down  you  would  go  to 
the  bottom  of  a  chuck-hole  with  a  thud  that 
made  your  teeth  chatter. 

The  cattle  looked  as  starved  as  the  people. 
We  came  to  one  valley  that  had  been  irri 
gated,  and  for  a  mile  or  so  the  crops  were 
green.  The  ditch  was  full  of  water — real  wet 
water.  Horses  and  cows,  dogs  and  people 
were  standing  in  it.  We  filled  our  radiator 
and  bottles  and  laved  our  hands  and  faces. 
Germs  or  no  germs,  we  drank  our  fill.  In  half 
an  hour  or  less  your  throat  and  mouth  would 


THE  DUST   OF   MONTANA  79 

be  as  dry  as  ashes,  and  your  thirst  was  insa 
tiable.  We  found  that  fruit,  especially  oran 
ges  and  pears,  quenched  the  thirst  better 
than  water;  so  we  always  kept  plenty  of  fruit 
in  the  car.  The  going  was  so  bad  that  we  did 
not  reach  Miles  City  until  late.  After  leaving 
Fargo,  each  morning  we  had  taken  the  pre 
caution  to  wire  ahead  for  reservations,  al 
ways  adding  "driving,"  so,  if  we  were  belated, 
the  rooms  would  still  be  held  for  us.  We  had 
been  told  that  the  Olive  Hotel  at  Miles  City 
was  the  only  poor  hotel  on  the  route.  Every 
one  had  given  it  a  black  eye.  We  had  men 
tioned  it  to  the  manager  at  the  Jordan  Annex 
in  Glendive.  "I  think  you  will  find  it  very 
comfortable.  Our  company  has  taken  it  over 
and  refurnished  it."  When  we  were  sending 
our  usual  morning  wire,  he  very  politely  said 
that  it  would  be  his  pleasure  to  notify  them 
of  our  coming. 

To  digress  for  a  moment — the  people  of 
Montana  pride  themselves  on  their  universal 
courtesy  to  strangers.  Time  and  again,  we 
had  people  say,  "You  have  found  our  people 
polite  and  obliging?" — "Yes;  they  are  kind 
ness  itself" — and  they  were. 

When  we  reached  the  Olive  Hotel  we  were 


8O  IT   MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

agreeably  surprised.  Everything  was  clean 
and  comfortable,  looking  like  Paradise  after 
the  dust  and  scorching  sun  of  the  plains.  We 
were  having  our  lunches  put  up  by  the  hotel 
each  morning,  as  there  was  absolutely  noth 
ing  decent  en  route  (shades  of  Medora!).  I 
asked  for  the  manager,  Mr.  Murphy. 

"We  shall  be  glad  to  put  you  up  a  lunch," 
he  said.  "What  would  you  like?" 

"Anything  but  ham  sandwiches.  We  have 
been  so  fed  up  on  them  that  we  can't  look  a 
pig  in  the  face  for  fear  we  will  see  a  family 
resemblance."  Then  I  added,  "May  the  bread 
be  cut  thin,  and  buttered?" 

He  laughed  and  assured  us  that  it  would 
be  "all  right."  Right!  Ye  gods,  we  had  a 
feast!  Oh,  how  we  have  blessed  dear  Mr. 
Murphy!  May  his  shadow  never  grow  less! 
As  we  were  starting  in  the  morning  the  head 
waitress  came  out  with  the  lunch  neatly  done 
up,  saying,  "Mr.  Murphy  has  had  some  ex 
tras  put  in.  We  like  Easterners  and  try  to 
please  tourists."  We  paid  the  modest  price 
of  $2.50  (for  three  people)  and  decided  to 
curb  our  curiosity  until  noon.  This  was  a  real 
occasion,  and  just  the  proper  spot  must  be 
found  for  our  party.  Some  days  we  had  driv- 


THE  DUST   OF   MONTANA  8l 

en  many  miles  to  find  a  clump  of  trees  to 
lunch  under.  Today  we  went  ten  miles  and 
never  even  saw  a  tree — the  deadly  monotony 
of  the  endless  plains — heat,  dust,  sand,  sage 
brush  the  color  of  ashes,  and  only  a  jolly  little 
prairie-dog  scurrying  to  his  hole  or  a  hawk 
flying  overhead.  Not  a  tree — not  even  a  big 
bush  to  give  shade !  We  asked  some  ranchers 
where  they  got  wood  for  fuel.  "There  ain't 
no  wood.  Every  fellow  digs  his  coal  in  his 
own  backyard."  It  sounded  simple,  and  I  was 
glad  to  hear  that  nature  had  provided  some 
compensations  for  the  farmer,  whose  life  at 
the  best  is  not  all  "beer  and  skittles/' 

On  we  drove  until  one  o'clock — and  still  no 
trees!  A  wail  from  Toodles:  "What  about 
having  lunch  in  the  car?"  There  was  a  bend 
in  the  road  over  the  top  of  a  hill.  "I  have  a 
hunch  that  there  will  be  a  tree  around  the 
bend,"  ventured  the  bird-man.  There  was ! — 
just  one  big,  glorious  cottonwood  tree  that 
would  shelter  a  drove  of  cattle,  and  the  only 
tree  in  sight  on  those  plains  as  far  as  the  eye 
could  see.  Out  came  the  faithful  old  rug  and 
the  hamper  —  and  then  we  unpacked  the 
lunch!  Three  juicy  melons,  a  whole  broiled 
chicken  for  each  one,  thin  bread  and  butter, 


82  IT   MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

a  jar  of  potato  salad,  fresh  tomatoes,  three 
jars  of  marmalade,  eggs,  crisp  lettuce,  pic 
kles,  and  the  best  chocolate-cake  I  ever  tast 
ed,  besides  peaches,  pears,  and  hot  coffee. 
You  may  think  we  were  a  lot  of  greedy  pigs, 
but  that  was  the  banner  lunch  of  the  trip. 
May  Mr.  Murphy  never  go  hungry!  He  has 
made  three  friends  for  life. 

Miles  City  is  the  last  and  best  of  the  repre 
sentative  "cow-towns"  of  early  days.  The  an 
nual  "round-up,"  a  celebration  of  frontier 
days,  is  usually  held  on  the  4th  of  July.  Here 
our  watches  went  back  an  hour.  We  were 
now  in  the  land  of  silver  dollars.  It  had  been 
some  years  since  we  had  seen  them  in  New 
York.  Out  here,  when  you  had  a  bill  changed, 
you  received  nothing  but  silver  dollars.  A  bit 
heavy,  but  all  right,  if  you  had  enough  of 
them. 

That  night  we  reached  Billings.  We  had 
gone  through  some  fertile  ranches  where  the 
irrigation  system  had  turned  an  arid  waste 
of  sand  into  fields  of  green  crops.  The  coun 
try  improved,  as  we  neared  this  "Metropolis 
of  Midland  Empire,"  as  they  term  it,  the  cen 
ter  of  the  sugar-beet  industry.  Wherever  we 
saw  crops,  there  the  sugar-beet  flourished. 


THE  DUST   OF   MONTANA  83 

They  must  raise  many  thousands  of  tons  of 
them.  The  fair  grounds  and  elaborate  build 
ings  are  of  interest.  It  is  a  real  city  rising  out 
of  the  plains,  like  a  living  monument  to  the 
pioneers,  men  and  women.  The  Northern 
Hotel  was  the  finest  we  had  seen  since  leav 
ing  the  Twin  Cities.  We  rested  up  for  a  day, 
had  the  car  cleaned  and  oiled,  and  had  our 
selves  laundered,  shampooed,  and  manicured, 
starting  refreshed  and  full  of  expectations  on 
our  last  lap  to  the  Yellowstone.  In  contrast 
to  the  Olive  Hotel,  our  lunch  here  was  the 
one  real  "hold-up"  in  any  hotel.  Six  eggs,  six 
tongue  sandwiches,  and  four  cups  of  coffee 
were  $3.75.  We  protested,  and  they  deducted 
seventy-five  cents. 

We  had  heard  pleasing  reports  of  Hunt 
er's  Hot  Springs  being  the  French  Lick  of  the 
West;  anything  that  spelled  water  sounded 
good  to  us,  although  we  had  crossed  the  up 
per  Yellowstone  River  only  to  see  a  little 
stream  so  low  that  the  cattle  were  standing 
in  the  middle.  There  is  nothing  but  the  hotel 
— not  even  a  garage.  All  the  cars  were  parked 
in  front  and  stood  there  all  night.  The  place 
was  crowded  with  tourists  from  all  over  the 
country.  "Hello  there!"  greeted  us,  and  to 


84  IT  MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

our  surprise  and  great  pleasure  we  found  our 
cousins,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  H.,  of  Fargo,  with  the 
glad  tidings  that  she  would  go  through  the 
park  with  us.  This  place  is  unique — a  low, 
rambling  building,  with  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of 
porches,  a  very  large  swimming  pool  of  min 
eral  water,  hot  from  the  springs,  and  private 
baths  of  all  descriptions.  The  big  plunge  had 
been  emptied  and  scrubbed,  and  the  hot  wa 
ter  was  pouring  in,  but  would  not  be  suffi 
ciently  cool  to  swim  in  for  another  day. 

Many  charming  people  were  here,  taking 
the  course  of  baths,  resting,  or  just  stopping 
en  route,  as  we  were.  One  celebrity  was  pre 
sented  to  us,  the  youthful  editor  of  "Jim  Jam 
Jems,"  Mr.  Sam  H.  Clark,  of  Bismarck,  North 
Dakota,  and  his  attractive  wife.  There  were 
other  ladies  in  his  party,  all  going  to  the 
park.  They  were  attired  in  the  costume  of 
khaki  breeches,  puttees,  and  coats,  looking 
very  Western  and  comfortable. 

We  remarked  that  we  were  unfortunate,  in 
never  having  seen  a  copy  of  "Jim  Jam  Jems." 
"You  surprise  me;  it  is  on  sale  at  six  hundred 
news-stands  in  New  York  City."  Feeling  like 
mere  worms,  we  expressed  the  hope  of  seeing 
it  in  San  Francisco.  On  our  arrival,  we  asked 


THE  DUST   OF   MONTANA  85 

for  it  at  the  news-stand  in  one  of  the  largest 
hotels.  "We  get  it  only  about  once  in  two 
months/'  we  were  told.  Later  we  found  the 
September  issue,  which  we  read  with  interest. 
In  the  "Monthly  Preamble"  he  says,  "Fact 
is,  this  good  old  U.  S.  A.  seems  to  have  slipped 
its  trolley,  politically,  industrially,  and  so 
cially,  and  generally  things  be  out  of  joint." 
That  seemed  to  be  the  tone  of  the  whole  pub 
lication.  I  do  not  know  the  particular  signifi 
cance  of  the  name  of  his  magazine;  but  if  he 
ever  decided  to  make  a  change  I  wonder  if  he 
would  consider  "The  Knocker  Club  in  Ses 
sion."  Mr.  Clark  is  a  reformer  in  embryo,  and 
his  talents  are  unquestioned.  Perhaps,  in  the 
broad-minded,  open  West,  he  will  in  time  find 
something  restructure  to  write  about.  Let  us 
watch  and  see. 

After  a  very  jolly  visit,  all  too  short,  we 
started  for  Livingston  and  Gardiner,  the 
northern  entrance  to  the  park.  The  sky  was 
dense  with  smoke,  due  to  the  forest  fires  in 
the  north.  In  Oregon  a  town  had  been  wiped 
out  the  day  before.  Our  eyes  smarted  from 
the  smoke;  the  mountains,  now  the  foothills 
of  the  Rockies,  were  entirely  obliterated,  and, 
if  this  kept  up,  we  could  see  nothing  in  the 


86  IT   MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

park.  Cars  were  turning  back,  and  the  pros 
pect  was  not  encouraging.  The  road  grew 
more  steep  and  narrow,  and  we  could  hardly 
see  a  quarter  of  a  mile  ahead  of  us.  It  was 
like  a  real  London  fog — pea  soup.  The  alti 
tude  was  very  high,  and  we  began  to  feel 
dizzy.  We  were  on  roads  that  were  just 
shelves  cut  in  the  sides  of  the  mountains, 
with  hardly  room  for  two  cars  to  pass  and  a 
good  long  tumble  on  the  lower  side.  It  was 
not  pleasant !  On  a  clear  day  perhaps,  but  not 
in  a  dense  fog. 

Passing  through  Livingston,  you  turn  due 
south  for  fifty-five  miles.  At  four  o'clock  we 
arrived  at  Gardiner,  where  we  had  a  belated 
lunch  at  a  restaurant,  and  found  a  collection 
of  five  weeks'  mail  at  the  post-office.  Joy! — 
and  then  more  joy!  We  all  wired  home  to 
anxious  relatives  of  our  arrival.  The  huge 
stone  arch  forms  the  gateway  to  the  park. 
The  officials,  old  army  veterans,  in  uniform, 
stopped  us  and  we  paid  $7.50  entrance  fee  for 
the  car.  There  is  no  tax  for  people.  We  were 
questioned  about  firearms.  None  are  allowed, 
and  we  had  none. 


XI 

A  WONDERLAND 

jf\s  Joaquin  Miller  said  of  the  Grand  Canyon 
in  Arizona,  "Is  any  fifty  miles  of  Mother 
Earth  as  fearful,  or  any  part  as  fearful,  as  full 
of  glory,  as  full  of  God?"  That  is  the  Yellow 
stone  National  Park! 

So  much  has  been  written  of  its  wonder 
and  beauty  that  it  is  "carrying  coals  to  New 
castle"  for  me  to  add  any  description.  It  beg 
gars  description!  None  of  us  had  visited  it 
before ;  so  the  experiences  were  doubly  inter 
esting,  and  these  facts  we  had  forgotten,  if 
we  had  ever  known  them:  In  1872,  Congress 
made  this  a  national  park.  It  is  sixty-two 
miles  long  and  fifty-four  miles  wide,  giving 
an  area  of  3348  square  miles  in  Wyoming, 
Idaho,  and  Montana,  and  is  under  the  super 
vision  of  the  National  Park  Service  of  the 
Interior  Department.The  entire  region  is  vol 
canic;  you  are  impressed  by  a  sense  of  near 
ness  to  Nature's  secret  laboratories. 

The  park  is  open  from  June  2Oth  to  Sep 
tember  1 5th.  It  is  estimated  that  sixty  thou- 


88  IT   MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

sand  visitors  have  enjoyed  the  splendors  of 
the  park  this  year  (1919).  We  reached  there 
August  2Oth,  at  the  height  of  the  tourist  sea 
son.  On  entering,  we  drove  five  miles  in  a 
dense  smoke  along  the  Gardiner  River  to 
Mammoth  Hot  Springs  Hotel.  There  we 
spent  our  first  night  and  held  a  "council  of 
war."  If  the  smoke  did  not  lift,  we  could  see 
nothing  and  would  have  to  wait.  Of  course, 
we  intended  to  drive  our  car  through  the 
park!  After  looking  the  situation  over  and 
talking  with  other  tourists,  we  decided  to  go 
in  the  Government  cars,  for  three  reasons: 
First,  whoever  drove  could  see  nothing  of  the 
scenery — you  had  to  keep  your  eye  on  the 
road  every  moment,  as  the  ways  were  so 
steep,  with  hundreds  of  sharp  curves ;  second, 
we  were  unaccustomed  to  the  very  high  alti 
tude,  an  average  of  eight  thousand  feet,  all 
were  feeling  dizzy  (one  of  the  ladies  had  a 
severe  nosebleed),  and  no  "light-headed" 
driver  was  safe  in  handling  a  car  on  those 
roads;  third,  if  you  are  familiar  with  the 
routes,  or  follow  the  Government  cars  and 
get  their  dust,  all  right;  if  not,  you  will  get 
off  the  main  roads  in  no  time.  The  Govern 
ment  has  very  comfortable  White  cars,  hold- 


A    WONDERLAND  89 

ing  eleven  and  the  driver.  All  the  roads  are 
officially  inspected  daily,  and  the  drivers  are 
expert.  You  buy  a  motor  ticket  for  twenty- 
five  dollars,  and  that  ends  your  responsibil 
ity.  You  have  unlimited  time  at  the  hotels,  if 
you  so  desire;  otherwise,  the  trip  is  made  in 
three  days,  with  ample  time  to  see  every 
thing,  and  even  to  take  side  trips. 

There  were  three  hotels  open  this  season 
— the  Mammoth  Hot  Springs,  Old  Faithful, 
and  the  Grand  Canyon.  They  are  run  exclu 
sively  on  the  American  plan,  at  six  dollars  a 
day,  with  good  food  and  every  comfort.  A 
private  bath  is  two  dollars  extra ;  with  two  in 
a  room,  four  dollars,  or,  if  the  bath  adjoins 
two  rooms,  with  two  in  each  room,  it  is  two 
dollars  each,  or  the  modest  sum  of  eight  dol 
lars.  We  found  that  the  tourists  in  the  Gov 
ernment  cars  were  cared  for  first  in  the  din 
ing-room  and  always  had  good  rooms  re 
served  for  them.  This  is  quite  a  consideration 
in  the  rush  season.  Thus  with  your  motor 
ticket  of  twenty-five  dollars,  your  full  three 
days'  hotel  bill  at  six  dollars  a  day,  including 
side  trips,  tips,  etc.,  the  park  can  be  seen  in 
absolute  comfort  for  fifty  dollars,  with  noth 
ing  to  worry  about.  As  we  had  been  driving 


9O  IT  MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

the  car  so  steadily  for  six  weeks,  the  relaxa 
tion  was  very  acceptable.  The  three  hotels 
are  quite  different.  The  Mammoth  Hot 
Springs  is  a  big  barn  of  a  place  in  appear 
ance,  lacking  home  atmosphere,  but  warms 
up  a  bit  in  the  evening  when  dancing  begins. 
The  next  morning,  to  our  joy,  the  wind  had 
shifted  and  the  smoke  lifted,  so  we  were  safe 
in  starting.  The  cars  leave  at  nine  and  reach 
Old  Faithful  Inn  by  noon.  Here  you  stay  un 
til  the  next  noon.  On  this  first  lap  of  the  tour 
you  pass  the  wonderful  Terraces,  filled  with 
boiling  springs,  which  look  like  cascades  of 
jewels  in  the  sunlight.  Passing  the  Devil's 
Kitchen,  Lookout  Point,  and  the  Koodoos, 
massive  blocks  of  travertine,  piled  up  in  every 
conceivable  shape,  at  an  altitude  of  seven 
thousand  feet,  and  Golden  Gate  Canyon,  you 
emerge  into  an  open,  smiling  mountain  valley 
with  high  ranges  on  every  side,  through  which 
runs  the  Gardiner  River.  The  Frying  Pan  is 
a  sizzling,  boiling  pool  that  comes  from  the 
bowels  of  the  earth.  The  Norris  Geyser  Basin 
is  filled  with  small  geysers,  spouting  at  inter 
vals,  and  looking  like  bursts  of  steam.  Em 
erald  Pool  is  typical  of  the  name.  As  you  look 
down  into  it,  the  gorgeous  color  deepens  like 


A    WONDERLAND  QI 

a  real  gem.  The  most  beautiful  example  of 
these  pools  is  the  Mammoth  Paint  Pot,  with 
myriads  of  scintillating  colors. 

We  could  hardly  wait  to  finish  lunch,  we 
were  so  anxious  to  see  the  famous  Old  Faith 
ful  spout,  or  "play,"  more  properly  speaking. 
At  regular  intervals  of  about  seventy  min 
utes,  the  mass  of  water  is  thrown  150  feet  in 
to  the  air  with  a  roar  of  escaping  steam  that 
sounds  like  the  exhaust  of  an  ocean  liner.  At 
night  an  immense  searchlight  on  the  roof  of 
the  hotel  plays  upon  it,  and  everyone  goes  to 
the  farther  side  to  view  the  water  with  the 
light  showing  through — a  glorious  sight!  I 
can  think  of  nothing  but  thousands  of  gems 
being  tossed  up  by  a  waterspout  at  sea.  The 
rainbow  colors  dance  and  radiate,  making  a 
fairyland  scene.  The  chorus  of  "Ohs!"  and 
"Ahs!"  resembles  a  crowd  viewing  a  pyro 
technic  display  on  the  4th  of  July.  We  were 
fortunate  in  seeing  both  the  Giant  and  Castle 
geysers  play. 

The  Old  Faithful  Inn  is  unique,  it  being 
built  entirely  of  the  park  timber  in  the  rough, 
hewed  from  the  twisted  trees  of  the  forests. 
The  fossil  forests  are  one  of  the  marvels  of 
the  park,  not  all  at  a  particular  level,  but  oc- 


92  IT   MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

curring  at  irregular  heights;  in  fact,  a  sec 
tion  cut  down  through  these  two  thousand 
feet  of  beds,  would  disclose  a  succession  of 
fossil  forests,  covered  by  volcanic  material 
through  the  ages. 

The  great  open  fireplaces  of  boulders  in 
the  hotel  always  gave  a  cheery  appearance, 
and  in  the  evenings  the  attendants  pop  corn 
for  the  guests.  A  very  good  orchestra  played 
until  midnight  and  hundreds  of  people 
danced  on  the  polished  floors.  The  table  is 
excellent  in  all  the  hotels.  Our  only  criticism 
was  that  the  guests  were  kept  waiting  out 
side  of  the  dining-room  until  all  tables  were 
cleared  and  reset,  when  we  could  have  just 
as  well  been  sitting  comfortably  inside.  In 
front  of  the  hotel  are  the  bath-houses,  with 
many  small  pools  and  one  large  one.  The 
prices  are  moderate.  All  rates,  even  for  post 
cards,  are  regulated  by  the  Government  offi 
cials  in  the  park. 

Toodles  had  informed  us  early  in  our  trip 
that  she  would  not  be  happy  unless  she  met 
"a  real  cowboy,  of  the  William  S.  Hart  type, 
and  a  real  Indian."  Up  to  now  she  had  been 
disappointed.  We  were  sitting  out  under  the 
trees  by  the  hotel,  waiting  for  Old  Faithful 


A    WONDERLAND  93 

to  "shoot/'  when  the  real  article  came  by  on 
horseback,  leading  two  saddled  horses.  He 
was  a  tall,  fine-looking  chap,  with  all  the  pro 
verbial  trappings  of  an  old-time  cowboy,  rid 
ing  as  if  he  were  a  part  of  his  horse.  As  he 
was  close  to  us,  Toodles  called  out,  "Were 
you  looking  for  me?"  He  took  no  notice,  and 
she  repeated  it.  He  rode  on,  never  even  turn 
ing  his  head.  "The  brute  must  be  deaf,"  a 
rather  piqued  voice  informed  us.  We  had 
been  accustomed  to  such  unusual  courtesy 
from  Westerners  that  this  surprised  us.  In  a 
few  moments  he  returned,  rode  up  in  front  of 
us,  and,  with  a  merry  twinkle  in  his  eyes  and 
looking  straight  at  Toodles,  said: 

"I  heard  you  the  first  time.  Now  come  and 
ride  with  me." 

We  all  laughed  but  Toodles.  She  lost  her 
tone  of  bravado,  and  exclaimed,  "If  you 
heard,  why  didn't  you  answer  me?" 

"Oh,  just  busy.  Had  to  deliver  my  horses." 
His  manner  was  jolly,  and  it  looked  like  a 
little  adventure. 

She  wanted  to  go,  but  she  had  recourse  to 
the  time-honored  "I  have  nothing  to  wear." 

"That  doesn't  matter;  I  will  fit  you  out. 
Ever  ride  astride?" 


94  IT   MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

"No." 

"Ever  ride  at  all?" 

"Of  course,  all  my  life!"  (indignantly). 

"Then  come  along.  I  will  give  you  the  fin 
est  horse  in  the  park  to  ride,  and  show  you 
views  that  the  tourists  never  see." 

We  all  urged  her  to  go,  one  lending  a  hat, 
another  a  coat,  until  at  last  she  appeared  with 
a  khaki  divided  skirt,  white  blouse,  blue  coat, 
and  sailor  hat,  looking  very  presentable,  very 
pretty,  and  rather  ill  at  ease.  While  Toodles 
was  dressing  he  told  us  that  he  had  been  in 
the  park  for  years  and  had  charge  of  the 
saddle-horses  and  riding  parties.  As  it  was 
all  a  lark,  and  we  thought  she  might  not  want 
her  name  known  to  him,  we  told  him  that  her 
name  was  "Toodles."  "All  right,"  with  a 
grin;  "I'm  on."  When  starting  he  whistled 
to  his  dog  and  called,  "Come  on,  Toodles," 
and  she  nearly  fell  off  her  horse  (he  made  her 
ride  astride). 

"What's  the  matter?  I  am  just  calling  my 
dog." 

"Oh,  is  that  your  dog's  name?"  Toodles  re 
plied  faintly.  "How  funny !" 

Off  they  rode  up  the  mountains,  and  did 
not  return  until  six  o'clock.  That  evening 


A    WONDERLAND  95 

"Charlie"  appeared  at  the  dance  in  ordinary 
citizen's  clothes,  but  the  picturesque  cowboy 
was  gone.  He  had  written  a  book  of  "all  the 
fool  questions  people  have  asked  me  in  twen 
ty  years."  He  kept  us  gasping  at  the  tales  of 
Western  adventure  until  nearly  midnight.  In 
the  morning  he  was  on  hand  to  see  us  off. 

The  next  day  was  clear  and  beautiful.  Our 
road  took  us  east  over  the  Continental  Di 
vide  and  along  the  shores  of  Yellowstone 
Lake,  past  the  mud  geysers,  to  the  Grand 
Canyon  Hotel.  On  the  divide  is  lily-covered 
Isa  Lake,  whose  waters  in  springtime  hesi 
tate  whether  to  flow  out  one  end,  into  the 
Pacific,  or  out  the  other,  into  Atlantic  wa 
ters,  and  usually  compromise  by  going  in 
both  directions.  We  passed  over  very  steep 
grades  commanding  a  superb  view  of  Mt. 
Washburne  (ten  thousand  feet  high)  through 
the  knotted  woods  and  dense  pine  forests, 
past  the  upper  and  lower  falls,  stopping  at 
Artist's  Point  to  get  our  first  view  of  the 
Grand  Canyon.  It  is  twenty  miles  long — the 
most  glorious  kaleidoscope  of  color  you  will 
ever  see  in  nature!  You  look  down  a  thou 
sand  feet  or  more  at  the  foaming  Yellow 
stone  River.  A  little  south  of  this  point  a  wa- 


96  IT   MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

terfall  twice  as  high  as  Niagara,  seemingly 
out  of  the  dense  pine  heights  above,  roars 
and  tumbles  into  the  depths  below.  "Rocky 
needles  rise  perpendicularly  for  hundreds  of 
feet,like  groups  of  Gothic  spires. "Again,  "the 
rocks,  carved  and  fretted  by  the  frost  and  the 
erosion  of  the  ages."  And  the  coloring — this 
is  almost  impossible  to  describe.  From  the 
deepest  orange  to  pale  yellow,  from  Indian 
red  to  exquisite  shell-pink,  in  all  shades  of 
soft  green  touched  by  Autumn's  hand.  With 
the  greenish  cascade  of  water  foaming  be 
neath  us  and  the  blue  dome  of  the  heavens 
above,  we  stood  there  awed  by  its  fearful  ma 
jesty  and  unequaled  beauty.  As  if  to  make 
the  picture  more  perfect,  an  eagle  soared 
through  the  canyon,  lighting  on  a  pinnacle 
of  jagged  rocks,  where  his  nest  clung  as  if  by 
magic.  As  we  watched  him  in  silence,  the 
words  of  Tennyson,  to  which  McDowell  has 
written  his  exquisite  composition,  "The 
Eagle,"  came  to  us: 

"He  clasps  the  crag  with  crooked  hands ; 
Close  to  the  sun  in  lonely  lands, 
Ring'd  with  the  azure  world,  he  stands. 
The  wrinkled  sea  beneath  him  crawls ; 
He  watches  from  his  mountain  walls, 
And  like  a  thunder-bolt  he  falls." 


A    WONDERLAND  97 

Another  wonderful,  and,  if  it  were  possi 
ble,  a  more  beautiful  view,  is  from  Inspira 
tion  Point,  on  the  other  side  of  the  canyon. 
It  is  like  the  most  exquisite  cameo.  Before 
you  a  gigantic  mass  of  rocks,  with  turrets 
and  towers,  known  as  "Castle  Ruins,"  seems 
to  fill  the  vista.  But,  as  I  said  before,  it  sim 
ply  beggars  description.  You  stand  there  in 
the  presence  of  the  marvelous  works  of  God, 
the  evidences  of  great  convulsions  of  nature 
through  the  ages.  You  feel  such  an  atom  in 
the  vastness,  the  unending  space  of  the  In 
finite,  and  you  recall  the  words  of  Victor  Hu 
go  in  his  "Intellectual  Autobiography" : 

"Beyond  the  visible,  the  invisible ;  beyond  the  invis 
ible,  the  Unknown.  Everywhere,  everywhere,  in  the 
zenith,  at  the  nadir,  in  front,  behind,  above,  below,  in 
the  heights,  in  the  depths,  looms  the  formidable  dark 
ness  of  the  Infinite." 

The  Grand  Canyon  Hotel  is  in  every  re 
spect  a  modern,  beautifully  furnished,  pala 
tial  establishment,  worthy  of  any  city.  This 
is  the  most  popular  hotel,  and  is  always 
crowded.  The  governors  of  twenty-one  states 
and  their  parties  were  touring  the  park.  They 
expressed  their  appreciation  of  the  Govern 
ment's  activities  in  behalf  of  the  comforts 


98  IT   MIGHT   HAVE   BEEN  WORSE 

and  conveniences  for  the  people — also,  of  its 
shortcomings,  in  the  failure  to  provide  the 
necessary  funds  for  further  improvements. 

We  found  the  roads  in  most  places  worthy 
of  the  name  "highways";  but  on  the  steepest 
grades,  where  the  outside  of  the  road  shelves 
off  into  space,  with  a  drop  of  hundreds  of 
feet,  there  are  no  walls  or  fences,  not  even 
railings,  to  prevent  accidents.  In  the  main, 
the  roads  are  sufficiently  wide  to  allow  two 
cars  to  pass;  in  some  places,  however,  the 
smaller  car  must  back  down  to  a  siding  to  al 
low  the  Government  cars,  which  have  the 
right  of  way  on  the  inside  of  the  road,  to  pass. 
Many  times  we  hung  on  by  our  eyebrows, 
apparently,  and  felt  as  if  our  "tummies"  had 
sunk  into  our  boots.  We  found  it  more  com 
fortable  to  look  up  than  down  into  the  depths. 

Today  we  met  our  small  boys  again.  I  had 
forgotten  them.  After  leaving  Minneapolis, 
many  times  we  had  overtaken  two  boys,  who 
were  making  a  hike  to  the  park,  a  distance  of 
over  nine  hundred  miles.  They  were  about 
sixteen  years  of  age,  as  sturdy,  polite  little 
chaps  as  you  could  meet.  Many  times  we  had 
given  them  a  lift  of  fifty  miles  or  more  into 
the  next  town.  They  told  us  that  they  had 


A    WONDERLAND  99 

earned  the  money  for  the  trip  and  carried 
their  camping  outfits  on  their  backs.  They 
camped  near  a  haystack  at  night,  bought 
food  (or  had  it  given  to  them)  on  the  road, 
and  were  having  the  time  of  their  lives.  When 
I  thought  of  the  Dakota  prairies  and  Bad 
Lands,  and  of  the  hot,  dusty  Montana  plains, 
I  realized  more  than  ever  the  sturdy  stuff 
that  Westerners  are  made  of.  I  would  like  to 
know  what  the  future  holds  for  those  two 
lads. 

The  last  day  of  our  trip  was  back  to  the 
starting-point,  Mammoth  Hot  Springs  Ho 
tel.  That  morning  Toodles  left  us,  taking  the 
trip  out  to  the  eastern  entrance  at  Cody.  This 
charming  little  lady  had  been  with  us  six 
weeks,  and  we  were  sorry  to  see  her  go. 

We  were  told  that  the  scenery  was  even 
finer  on  the  Cody  road,  but  we  could  not  con 
ceive  of  it. 

After  going  a  few  miles  from  the  hotel, 
through  a  bit  of  woods,  our  driver  jammed 
on  his  brakes,  with  the  news,  "Here  are  the 
bears !" — two  good-sized  cubs  and  the  moth 
er  bear  holding  us  up !  They  were  in  the  mid 
dle  of  the  road ;  so  we  had  to  stop.  Everyone 
wants  to  see  the  bears  in  the  park.  Well,  we 


IOO          IT   MIGHT   HAVE   BEEN  WORSE 


old  one,  a  big  cinnamon  bear,  walked 
around  to  the  side  of  the  car,  stood  on  her 
hind  legs,  with  her  front  paws  on  the  door  of 
the  car  and  her  muzzle  in  my  lap!  I  never 
was  so  scared  in  my  life  !  "She  wants  the  can 
dy/'  the  others  exclaimed.  I  had  a  box  of 
chocolates  in  my  lap,  and,  with  my  hands 
shaking  like  aspens,  I  began  to  peel  off  the 
silver  foil  from  one  piece.  "Don't  stop  for 
that;  give  her  the  candy,  or  she  will  be  in  the 
car!"  yelled  the  driver.  And  you  better  be 
lieve  I  did,  in  short  order!  Handing  her  the 
box,  she  gobbled  every  piece,  foil  and  all. 
Everyone  was  standing  on  the  seats  with  a 
camera  trying  to  snap  the  picture.  After  she 
sniffed  about  to  see  if  I  had  any  more,  she 
went  to  all  the  cars  lined  up  back  of  us,  where 
they  fed  her  and  the  cubs  everything  they 
carried.  They  had  to,  for  she  foraged  for  her 
self.  I  assure  you  that  the  sensation  of  hav 
ing  a  huge  bear  eat  out  of  your  hand  is  a 
thriller!  There  are  black  and  grizzly  (or  sil 
ver-tip)  bears  in  the  park.  A  few  venture  out 
of  the  woods  to  the  camps  and  garbage- 
dumps  near  the  hotels.  Of  course,  the  forests 
are  full  of  large  and  small  game.  There  are 
two  buffalo  herds.  The  tame  herd  has  in- 


A    WONDERLAND  IOI 

creased  from  twenty  animals,  in  1902,  to  385, 
in  October,  1918.  We  saw  mountain-sheep 
and  many  deer. 

We  went  over  the  Dunraven  Pass,  one  of 
the  most  daring  drives,  getting  a  fine  view  of 
Tower  Falls,  132  feet  high.  In  fact,  that  last 
day  was  one  long  thrill.  We  reached  the  ho 
tel  for  dinner  feeling  a  bit  limp  and  exhaust 
ed,  we  had  been  at  such  high  tension  for 
three  days.  We  sat  by  the  roaring  log  fire 
that  evening,  living  it  all  over  again.  "Will 
you  ever  forget  that  view  of  the  canyon?" — 
"How  truly  wonderful  the  trip  has  been!"  It 
was  truly  wonderful!  I  have  not  given  you 
even  an  approximate  idea  of  the  scenery  or 
the  wonders.  I  can  only  say,  "Go  and  see  it 
for  yourself."  For  those  who  enjoy  camping, 
every  comfort  and  facility  are  provided.  If 
you  wish  to  camp  de  luxe,  the  Yellowstone 
Park  Camping  Company  maintains  five  per 
manent  camps  or  "tent  cities"  in  the  park. 
All  tents  have  floors,  electric  lights,  and  are 
heated  by  wood-burning  stoves.  The  beds  are 
full-sized  and  comfortable.  There  are  large 
dining-halls,  recreation  pavilions,  and  "camp- 
fires."  The  campers  in  the  park  were  legion 
this  season. 


IO2          IT   MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

The  next  morning  we  bade  good-by  to 
Mrs.  H.,  who  left  us  for  Gardiner,  and  the 
"bird-man"  and  his  lady  chauffeur  proceeded 
together. 


XII 

WESTWARD  HO! 

JtivERYONE  had  the  same  disconsolate  story 
to  tell  of  the  route  through  Idaho  and  Neva 
da  to  the  Coast.  (I  often  have  wondered  why 
the  expression  "The  Coast"  means  but  one 
place,  the  Pacific  Coast.  We  have  a  few  thou 
sand  miles  of  sea-coast  on  the  Atlantic,  but 
no  one  ever  speaks  of  going  East  "to  the 
Coast.")  All  the  motor  parties  we  met  that 
came  that  way  to  the  park  advised  us  to  go 
north  from  Gardiner,  over  the  Yellowstone 
Trail  to  Spokane  and  Seattle,  and  then  down 
the  coast  to  San  Francisco.  One  man  said, 
"I  wouldn't  take  five  thousand  dollars  to  go 
back  over  those  roads!"  We  had  practically 
decided  to  go  the  northern  route,  but  the  for 
est  fires  were  still  raging  in  that  section,  and 
many  cars  were  turned  back.  It  was  Hobson's 
choice;  we  had  no  alternative. 

Our  car  had  been  left  in  the  garage  at 
Mammoth.  On  leaving  we  found  there  was 
no  charge  for  the  four  days'  storage.  It 
seemed  like  home  to  be  back  in  our  own  car 


IO4          IT   MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

again.  We  followed  the  same  route  that  we 
took  to  Old  Faithful  until  we  reached  Gibbon 
Falls,  then  turned  west  along  the  Madison 
River  to  the  western  gate  at  Yellowstone, 
and  so  out  of  the  park  into  Idaho. 

If  there  are  worse  roads  anywhere  on  earth 
than  in  Idaho,!  hope  we  may  never  see  them! 
It  had  grown  hot,  and  every  mile  of  the  way 
was  hotter.  Sand,  dust,  ruts  three  feet  deep, 
and  chuck-holes  at  every  turn !  In  contrast  to 
the  roads  in  the  park,  that  state  is  a  night 
mare!  By  the  time  we  had  reached  Ashton 
(123  miles),  we  wished  we  had  never  seen 
Idaho.  The  Kirkbride  Hotel  was  wretched, 
with  only  one  bathroom  for  the  establish 
ment,  no  cafe,  and  dirty  beyond  expression. 
The  town  has  but  one  street,  a  typical  cow 
boy  town,  as  primitive  as  possible.  The  hotel 
manager  asked  if  we  carried  our  own  bed 
ding!  "Do  we  look  as  if  we  did?"  No  reply. 
We  probably  did — and  worse.  It  seems  that 
the  camping  parties  from  the  park  often 
brought  things  beside  bedding  with  them !  At 
ten  that  night  we  found  some  food,  in  a 
wretched  Chinese  restaurant. 

The  next  day  was  hot  and  dusty,  and  there 
were  more  bad  roads;  but  we  knew  that  we 


WESTWARD  HO!  IOS 

should  find  a  good  hotel  at  Pocatello,  with 
private  bath  and  decent  food.  We  went 
through  Idaho  Falls  and  the  Blackfoot  Res 
ervation. 

An  incident  occurred  here  that  would  have 
made  Toodles  green  with  envy.  We  were 
taking  advantage  of  our  first  stretch  of  good 
road  in  two  days,  and  going  at  a  lively  speed. 
AwTay  ahead,  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  stood 
a  solitary  figure.  We  sounded  our  horn.  The 
figure  did  not  budge.  Then  we  blew  a  blast 
that  would  have  raised  Rameses  II  and  came 
to  a  stop  a  few  feet  from  a  man.  He  proved  to 
be  a  "real  honest-to-gosh,"  as  they  say  out 
here,  Indian  chief.  His  frame  was  massive 
and  his  face  square-jawed,  of  a  copper-bronze 
hue.  A  crimson  kerchief,  earrings,  and  beads, 
with  ordinary  trousers  and  shirt,  completed 
his  costume.  He  stood  there  like  a  dethroned 
emperor.  With  a  dignified  majesty,  he  waved 
his  arm  and  said,  "Take  me  home."  I  turned 
to  look  at  him  as  he  sat,  with  folded  arms, 
alone  in  the  tonneau,  with  an  air  that  plainly 
said,  "I  owned  all  this  once;  it  is  all  mine"  He 
told  us  that  he  was  chief  of  the  Shoshone 
tribe,  and  owned  250  acres;  that  he  rented 
two  of  his  ranches  and  lived  on  the  one 


IO6          IT   MIGHT   HAVE   BEEN  WORSE 

"where  the  trees  were,  a  mile  up  the  road/' 
The  land  was  under  high  cultivation,  with 
fine  buildings.  When  we  let  him  out  he  just 
waved  us  on,  saying,  "Me  good  American." 
I  wondered  if  at  heart  he  really  were,  or  if  he 
knew  that  he  had  to  be.  We  often  saw  Indian 
women  on  the  roadside  selling  garden  truck 
— always  with  a  stolid  expression,  and  sel 
dom  a  smile.  If  you  spoke  to  them,  their 
invariable  rejoinder  was  "You  bet"  (pro 
nounced  "U-bit").  This  seems  to  be  the  pre 
vailing  expression  in  the  West. 

The  Yellowstone  Hotel  in  Pocatello  is  very 
good,  and  crowded,  like  all  of  the  Western 
hotels. 

The  heat  was  intense,  even  at  nine  in  the 
morning,  and  Ogden,  Utah,  165  miles  south. 
"Are  the  roads  good?"  we  asked  the  clerk. 
Smiling,  he  replied,  "I  am  from  New  York." 
At  Dayton,  we  crossed  the  border  into  Utah. 
Before  us  laya  cement  road  as  white  as  snow. 
We  could  hardly  believe  our  eyes.  "Woman, 
bow  down  and  worship!"  the  bird-man  ex 
claimed.  Regardless  of  speed  laws,  we  flew 
over  that  road  for  miles,  through  beautiful 
towns  and  avenues  of  Lombardy  poplars.  We 
remarked  that  every  little  bungalow  was  sur- 


WESTWARD   HO!  IO7 

rounded  by  these  tall  trees.  "The  Mormons 
must  have  planted  one  for  each  wife  and 
child."  The  farms  were  fertile  and  well  culti 
vated,  and  for  miles  the  peach  orchards  lined 
the  sides  of  the  road,  the  trees  laden  with 
fruit.  At  each  station  wagons  were  unloading 
hundreds  of  crates  ready  for  shipment.  To 
matoes  and  melons,  also,  are  raised  in  abun 
dance.  Brigham  is  a  clean,  attractive  city, 
with  peach-trees  growing  in  every  garden 
and  on  the  roadside.  They  celebrate  an  annu 
al  "Peach  day"  in  September.  "Every  visitor 
will  receive  a  peach,"  the  posters  read.  I 
bought  a  basket,  of  a  dozen  or  more,  for  ten 
cents.  Here  we  became  acquainted  with  the 
red  grasshopper.  We  thought  we  had  left  all 
of  these  little  pests  in  Fargo;  but  here  they 
were  as  lively  as  ever  and  as  red  as  strawber 
ries.  And  that  reminds  me — we  have  had  de 
licious  strawberries  for  weeks  (in  August). 
The  roads  were  so  wonderful  that  we  for 
got  our  aching  backbones  and  enjoyed  every 
mile  of  the  way  into  Ogden,  to  the  Reed  Ho 
tel.  We  spent  two  days  here,  as  there  was 
much  of  interest  to  see  and  do.  The  hotel  is 
old,  but  well  kept  up.  We  had  a  room  large 
enough  to  hold  a  convention  in,  with  a  small- 


IO8          IT   MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

er  bedroom  and  bath  adjoining,  and  eight 
large  windows  altogether.  Again  the  hotel 
was  crowded.  The  railroad  strike  was  on  in 
California,  and  people  were  marooned  in 
every  city;  only  local  trains  were  running. 

The  next  day  we  drove  to  Salt  Lake  City, 
a  distance  of  about  thirty-five  miles.  Of  all 
the  Western  cities,  we  were  most  anxious  to 
see  the  capital  of  Utah.  And  now  a  joke  at 
my  expense!  I  asked  the  clerk  in  the  hotel 
where  we  could  get  the  steamer  for  SaltLake 
City. 

"What steamer?"  he  asked  in  surprise. 

"Can't  you  go  there  by  boat?" 

"Say,  lady,  I  guess  you  come  from  the 
East." 

I  admitted  the  truth  of  that. 

"Ever  been  West  before?" 

This  time  a  negative. 

"Don't  you  know  that  the  boat  has  never 
been  built  that  will  float  on  Salt  Lake?" 

I  thought  of  "Cowboy  Charlie"  and  his 
book  of  "fool  questions." 

Salt  Lake  is  a  wonderful  city.  Whatever 
you  may  think  of  the  Mormons,  you  have  to 
admit  that  they  are  a  far-sighted,  industri 
ous,  and  executive  people.  Your  chief  interest 


WESTWARD   HO!  IO9 

centers  about  the  Temple  Block,  a  ten-acre 
square  surrounded  by  a  stone  and  adobe  wall 
twelve  feet  high.  The  grounds  are  a  beautiful 
park.  The  Bureau  of  Information  is  a  fine 
large  building,  where  literature  is  distributed 
to  three  hundred  thousand  visitors  yearly. 
As  many  as  thirty-nine  states  and  seven  for 
eign  countries  had  been  represented  on  the 
registry  in  one  day.  "No  fees  charged,  and  no 
donations  received/'  was  the  watchword  on 
these  grounds.  We  wondered  how  the  place 
was  supported,  and  were  told  that  there  were 
no  pew-rentals  in  any  of  their  churches,  and 
no  collections  made,  nor  were  there  any  con 
tribution-boxes  found  there. 

"The  Mormons  observe  the  ancient  law  of 
tithing,  as  it  was  given  to  the  Children  of 
Israel,  by  which  a  member  pays  one-tenth  of 
his  income,as  a  free-will  offering,  for  the  sup 
port  of  the  Church." 

In  the  Temple  Block  is  the  Assembly  Hall, 
a  semi-Gothic  structure  of  gray  granite,  with 
a  seating  capacity  of  two  thousand,  often 
used  for  public  lectures  and  concerts  by  any 
denomination.  The  Tabernacle  is  a  world- 
famed  auditorium,  seating  eight  thousand 
people,  noted  for  its  remarkable  construction 


IIO          IT   MIGHT   HAVE   BEEN  WORSE 

and  acoustic  properties.  The  wooden  roof, 
self-supporting,  rests  upon  buttresses  of  red 
sandstone,  twelve  feet  apart,  the  whole  cir 
cumference  of  the  building.  These  pillars  sup 
port  wooden  arches  ten  feet  in  thickness  and 
spanning  150  feet.  The  arches,  of  a  lattice- 
truss  construction,  are  put  together  with 
wooden  pins,  there  being  no  nails  or  iron  of 
any  kind  used  in  the  framework.  The  build 
ing  was  erected  between  1863  and  1870,  and 
was  nearly  completed  before  the  railroads 
reached  Utah.  All  the  imported  material  had 
to  be  hauled  with  ox-teams  from  the  Missou 
ri  River.  The  original  cost  was  three  hundred 
thousand  dollars,  exclusive  of  the  cost  of  the 
organ.  Our  guide,  a  lady,  told  us  that  their 
pioneer  leader,  Brigham  Young,  had  planned 
and  supervised  the  erection  of  the  building. 
"He  was  a  glazier  and  cabinet-maker  by 
trade,  but  had  been  schooled  chiefly  by  hard 
ship  and  experience.  He  not  only  designed 
this  and  the  Temple,  but  he  built  an  equally 
wonderful  commonwealth;  one  which  is 
unique  among  the  Middle  and  Western  states 
for  law  and  order,  religious  devotion  and  loy 
alty."  She  told  us  that  their  church  had  es 
tablished  headquarters  successively  in  New 


WESTWARD   HO!  Ill 

York,  Ohio,  Missouri,  and  Illinois,  and,  after 
the  martyrdom  of  Joseph  and  Hyrum  Smith, 
in  1846,  it  was  obliged  to  seek  refuge  in  the 
Rocky  Mountains.  They  have  no  profession 
al  or  paid  preachers ;  any  member  of  the  con 
gregation  may  be  called  upon  to  address 
them.  We  were  interested  to  hear  of  their 
women.  "They  are  the  freest,  most  intensely 
individualistic  women  on  earth,  having  three 
organizations  of  their  own.  The  Relief  Soci 
ety  has  thirty  thousand  members,  publishes 
a  monthly  periodical,  has  up-to-date  offices, 
owns  many  ward-houses,  and  spends  thou 
sands  of  dollars  yearly  for  charity  and  edu 
cation.  The  Young  Ladies'  Mutual  Improve 
ment  Association  was  organized  in  1869  by 
Brigham  Young,  chiefly  among  his  own 
daughters."  (Some  family  party!)  This  asso 
ciation  now  numbers  over  thirty  thousand 
girls.  It  also  edits  and  controls  a  magazine. 
Besides  these  activities,  there  is  the  Primary 
Association,  with  many  thousands  of  chil 
dren  marshaled  under  its  banner.  We  remem 
bered  that  the  women  have  full  suffrage  in 
Utah,  and  were  not  surprised  to  hear  of  their 
ward  conferences  and  public  speakers.  This 
did  not  sound  much  like  the  "down-trodden 


112          IT   MIGHT   HAVE   BEEN  WORSE 

slaves"  that  many  consider  the  Mormon 
women  to  be. 

Most  prominent  among  the  structures  in 
the  "Block"  is  the  Temple,  began  less  than 
six  years  after  the  pioneers  found  here  a  des 
olate  sagebrush  wilderness.  Before  railroads 
were  built  to  the  granite  quarries,  twenty 
miles  southeast  of  the  city,  the  huge  blocks 
of  stone  were  hauled  by  ox-teams,  requiring 
at  times  four  yoke  of  oxen  four  days  to  trans 
port  a  single  stone!  Forty  years  were  re 
quired  in  its  completion,  and  the  structure 
stands  as  a  monument  to  the  untiring  energy 
of  these  people.  Its  cost,  in  all,  was  four  mil 
lion  dollars.  Visitors  have  never  been  admit 
ted  to  the  Temple  since  its  dedication  in 
1893.  "It  was  not  designed  as  a  place  of  pub 
lic  assembly,"  our  guide  informed  us;  "it  is 
to  us  a  holy  place  devoted  to  sacred  ordinan 
ces,  and  open  only  to  our  own  church  mem 
bers  in  good  standing."  I  wish  that  space 
permitted  me  to  quote  all  that  we  heard  of 
their  marriages,  and  even  divorces,  and  of 
their  many  quaint  customs. 

The  figure  surmounting  the  Temple  is 
twelve  feet  in  height,  of  hammered  copper 
covered  with  gold  leaf,  and  represents  the 


WESTWARD   HO!  113 

angel  Moroni,  the  son  of  Mormon,  the  writer 
of  the  Book  of  Mormon,  which  "is  an  in 
spired  historical  record  of  the  ancient  inhabi 
tants  of  the  American  continent,  correspond 
ing  to  the  Old  Testament."  Mormon,  who 
lived  about  400  A.  D.,  was  one  of  the  last  of 
their  prophets,  and  into  the  Book  of  Mor 
mon  compiled  the  traditions  which  had  come 
to  him  through  generations.  This  is  not  the 
Mormon  Bible,  for  they  use  the  King  James 
translation  that  our  Christian  churches  use. 
The  Sea-Gull  Monument  is  also  in  the 
"Block."  It  commemorates  a  historic  inci 
dent  of  pioneer  days,  and  was  designed  by 
Mahonri  M.  Young,  a  grandson  of  Brigham. 
A  granite  base  of  twenty  tons,  resting  on  a 
concrete  foundation,  supports  a  granite  col 
umn  fifteen  feet  high,  surmounted  by  a  gran 
ite  globe.  Two  bronze  sea-gulls  rest  upon  up 
on  this  ball.  The  birds  weigh  five  hundred 
pounds,  and  the  stretch  of  their  wings  is  eight 
feet.  On  three  sides  of  the  base,  in  relief 
sculpture,  the  sea-gull  story  is  told,  which, 
briefly,  is  this:  In  1848  this  was  the  earliest 
settlement  in  the  Rocky  Mountains,  and  less 
than  a  year  old,  consisting  of  a  camp,  a  log 
and  mud  fort  enclosing  huts,  tents  and  wag- 


114          IT   MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

ons,  with  about  eighteen  hundred  people. 
Their  handful  of  crops  the  first  year,  mainly 
potatoes,  having  failed,  they  were  looking 
for  a  good  harvest  the  second  year,  or  they 
would  face  starvation.  In  the  spring  of  1848 
five  thousand  acres  of  land  were  under  culti 
vation  in  the  valley,  nine  hundred  with  win 
ter  wheat.  Then  came  the  plague  of  crickets 
(our  friends  the  grasshopper  family).  "They 
rolled  in  legions  down  the  mountain  sides, 
attacking  the  young  grain  and  destroying 
the  crops."  Men,  women  and  children  fought 
them  with  brooms,  with  fire,  and  even  dug 
ditches  and  turned  water  into  the  trenches. 
It  looked  hopeless;  their  crops  seemed 
doomed,  when  great  flocks  of  sea-gulls  swept 
down  on  the  crickets  and  devoured  them. 
The  Mormons  compare  the  incident  to  the 
saving  of  Rome  by  the  cackling  geese. 

We  heard  an  amusing  story  of  how  Brig- 
ham  Young  came  by  his  name.  Originally 
his  surname  was  "Brigham."  Once,  when  his 
agent  returned  with  some  prospective  brides, 
Brigham,  looking  them  over  and  finding 
them  too  old,  exclaimed,  "Go  find  others, 
and  bring  'em  young." 

The  Utah  Hotel  is  one  of  the  finest  in  the 


WESTWARD   HO!  115 

country.  It  is  owned  and  run  by  the  Mor 
mons,  and  it  does  them  great  credit.  We 
dined  in  the  roof-garden,  which  compares  fa 
vorably  with  that  of  any  hotel  in  New  York. 
You  look  off  to  the  Wasatch  range  of  moun 
tains,  the  beautiful  fertile  valley,  and  the 
great  Salt  Lake,  beyond  which  lies  the  desert. 

The  executive  staff  of  the  Mormon  Church 
has  one  of  the  finest  buildings  in  the  city. 
The  interior  is  paneled  with  native  marbles 
and  woods  and  represents  a  fortune. 

Returning  to  Ogden,  we  spent  the  next 
day  visiting  Ogden  Canyon,  a  short  trip  of 
twenty  miles.  We  drove  through  groves  of 
walnut  trees  laden  with  nuts.  Making  a  sharp 
turn  on  a  good  macadam  road,  you  wind 
through  a  deep  canyon  gorgeous  with  au 
tumn  foliage,  a  beautiful  sight.  The  river 
bank  is  lined  with  vine-covered  bungalows, 
almost  hidden  from  view.  The  canyon 
streams  are  noted  for  the  brook-trout  fish 
ing.  A  Boston  chap  told  us  that  he  and  two 
other  boys  caught  ninety  pounds  in  three 
days.  We  lunched  at  the  Hermitage,  the  best- 
known  resort  near  Ogden.  It  is  built  of  logs, 
in  the  wildest  part  of  the  canyon.  The  house 
was  decorated  with  ferns  and  mountain  wild 


Il6         IT  MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

flowers,  as  artistically  as  a  private  home.  We 
certainly  enjoyed  the  brook-trout  dinner 
($1.50)  of  fish  caught  that  day  in  front  of 
the  hotel.  Of  course,  this  cannot  be  compared 
to  Yellowstone  Canyon,  but  it  is  very  beauti 
ful  and  well  worth  the  trip  from  Ogden. 

That  evening  we  pored  over.  maps.  There 
was  no  route  across  the  desert  that  was  good 
— only  some  were  worse  than  others.  Every 
one  advised  us  to  take  the  "Pike's  Peak 
Ocean-to-Ocean  Highway,"  which  follows 
the  Southern  Pacific  Railroad  (at  intervals), 
and  is  considered  a  "safety-first"  way. 

I  never  see  that  word  "highway"  that  I 
don't  want  to  laugh!  A  "cow-path"  would 
more  nearly  describe  any  that  we  traveled  in 
Idaho  or  Nevada  (not  to  mention  a  few 
others). 


XIII 

NEVADA  AND  THE  DESERT 

WE  did  not  look  forward  with  an  atom  of 
pleasure  to  this  part  of  the  trip.  We  dreaded 
it.  It  simply  had  to  be  done.  The  officials  told 
us  that  nearly  all  the  tourists  shipped  their 
cars  to  Reno.  That  was  valuable  information 
to  give  us,  when  not  a  train  was  running 
west.  The  clerk  pointed  out  a  dried-up  little 
woman  of  seventy,  and  said,  with  a  wither 
ing  glance  at  me:  "See  that  old  lady?  She  has 
driven  her  own  car  across  the  desert  twice 
this  summer!"  Well,  you  know  how  such  re 
marks  make  you  feel.  Not  that  you  care  a  — 
bit  what  that  clerk  thought  of  you,  but  you 
don't  like  to  realize  that  you  are  a  molly-cod 
dle  or  a  coward.  Besides,  my  husband  had 
laughed  at  my  apprehensions,  and  that 
wouldn't  do  either.  So  I  thought  of  our  good 
fortune  so  far,  of  our  slogan,  and  of  the  old 
party  of  seventy,  and  I  gave  my  pride  a  hitch 
and  said,  "Let's  start" — and  we  did. 

Our  route  lay  over  the  same  road  back 
through  Brigham,  a  beautiful  drive  that  far, 


Il8          IT   MIGHT   HAVE   BEEN  WORSE 

then  it  turned  northwest,  over  the  northern 
part  of  the  Great  Salt  Lake  desert,  ninety 
miles  to  Snowville.  The  sand  was  so  deep 
that  we  crawled  most  of  the  way.  The  sun 
scorched  our  skin  and  eyes  until  they  felt  dry 
as  ashes.  We  had  left  the  railroad  and  tele 
graph  poles  and  had  but  a  single-file  path 
through  the  sand,  with  chuck-holes  every 
few  feet.  When  the  wind  blew  it  felt  as  if  an 
oven-door  had  been  opened  in  your  face,  and 
the  snow-white  sand  covered  everything,  in 
cluding  the  tracks  in  the  road,  which  was  not 
pleasant.  Nothing  was  to  be  seen  except  the 
endless  sand,  dry  sagebrush,  cactus,  and  an 
occasional  prairie-dog.  We  met  but  two  cars 
that  day.  I  can  conceive  of  nothing  more  ut 
terly  desolate  and  God'-forsaken  than  the 
desert.  There  is  a  silence  of  deathlike  still 
ness  that  gets  on  the  nerves,  and  the  same 
ness  is  wearisome. 

We  were  glad  to  see  Snowville,  although 
Snowville  was  not  much  to  see.  It  consisted 
of  one  street,  with  possibly  twenty  houses,  a 
garage,  two  stores,  and  a  few  trees.  The  peo 
ple  who  owned  the  grocery-store  rented 
rooms.  They  were  kind  and  hospitable,  and 
made  us  comfortable  as  they  could.  One  can- 


NEVADA  AND  THE  DESERT  IIQ 

not  pick  and  choose  in  the  desert.  You  are 
glad  and  thankful  to  find  anything  that  looks 
like  a  bed  and  water.  The  woman  told  us  that 
the  two  stalwart  young  men  were  her  sons, 
just  returned  from  service;  one  was  a  major. 
They  were  running  the  garage  and  helping 
in  the  store.  The  whole  family  were  educat 
ed,  intelligent  people,  except  the  old  man, 
whose  vocabulary  was  limited  to  "You  bet !" 
and  "By  heck!"  What  they  could  find  in  life 
in  such  surroundings,  with  nothing,  abso 
lutely  nothing,  to  commend  the  place,  was 
hard  to  conceive.  And  yet  the  mother  told 
me  that  the  women  in  the  village  had  done 
more  Red  Cross  work  during  the  war  than 
those  of  any  town  of  its  size  in  the  state,  and 
they  had  oversubscribed  their  quota  in  the 
Liberty  Loans !  "The  war  did  not  seem  very 
real  to  us  'way  out  here,"  she  said.  "What  we 
read  in  the  papers  seemed  like  a  novel.  But 
when  my  boys  went  it  brought  it  nearer 
home  to  me.  We  were  so  far  from  the  busy 
world  our  lives  were  too  limited  to  realize 
what  was  going  on  across  the  seas."  I  could 
understand  that,  for  one  day  of  the  desert 
made  me  feel  an  isolation  that  I  never  had 
felt  in  the  middle  of  the  Atlantic. 


I2O          IT   MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

They  had  a  bathroom;  but  if  the  water 
was  being  used  in  the  garage  or  kitchen,  it 
would  not  run  upstairs.  Someone  had  driven 
miles  away  to  get  some  meat  for  supper;  so 
it  was  quite  late  before  we  had  anything  to 
eat.  Fried  meat,  fried  eggs,  fried  potatoes — 
all  soaked  in  grease;  no  milk  or  butter,  and 
the  coffee  and  tea  we  could  not  drink. 

Across  the  street  was  a  little  patch  of  green 
corn.  I  went  to  the  house  and  asked  the  wom 
an  if  she  would  sell  me  a  few  ears.  She  told 
me  that  they  were  leaving  the  next  morning 
— moving  away — as  her  husband  could  not 
make  a  living.  He  was  a  professor  of  lan 
guages  fromMassachusetts,a  cultivated  gen 
tleman!  When  he  rode  up  on  horseback  I 
went  out  and  shook  hands  with  him,  and 
laughingly  said : 

"I  am  your  long-lost  sister  from  Massa 
chusetts/' 

He  was  off  his  horse  and  bowing  in  a  Ches- 
terfieldian  manner.  "You  are  most  welcome, 
madam;  but,  alas!  we  have  nothing  to  offer 
you." 

"Oh,  but  you  have,  sir — the  pleasure  of 
meeting  you  both  and  some  of  your  green 


corn/3 


NEVADA  AND  THE  DESERT  121 

He  picked  me  a  half-dozen  ears,  and  when 
I  offered  to  pay  him,  he  said,  "Please,  no !" 

He  asked  where  we  were  from.  "The  East 
sounds  very  far  away.  I  wonder  if  I  shall  ever 
see  it  again." 

I  gave  one  of  the  children  a  dollar,  and  re 
turned  with  my  precious  corn,  which  the 
good-natured  Irish  cook  boiled  to  a  rock  for 
our  supper. 

There  was  a  small  piazza  in  front  of  our 
room,  the  only  place  to  sit  except  in  the  street 
or  in  the  private  parlor  of  the  family.  The 
moon  was  coming  up  over  the  distant  moun 
tain,  red  as  blood  and  big  as  a  cart-wheel. 
While  we  were  getting  cool  and  enjoying  the 
scene,  Mary  appeared  with  the  remainder  of 
the  raw  meat,  saying: 

"We  put  it  out  here  to  keep  cool;  there 
ain't  no  ice  in  this  hole  of  a  place.  I'm  going 
to  leave  first  of  September.  Gee,  but  I'll  be 
glad !  They  couldn't  hire  me  to  stay  here  any 
longer  for  fifty  dollars  a  month!"  (She  evi 
dently  felt  that  it  was  up  to  her  to  entertain 
us.)  "Nothing  but  work  and  heat — and  not 
even  a  movie !" 

"How  early  can  we  get  breakfast?" 

"Seven  o'clock.  I  wouldn't  get  up  before 


122          IT   MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

that  for  President  Wilson."  (The  picture  of 
President  and  Mrs.  Wilson  in  that  place 
made  us  smile.) 

"Try  a  little  vamping  on  Mary,"  I  sug 
gested  to  friend  husband.  It  worked.  She 
called  us  at  five,  and  by  six  we  were  out  again 
on  the  desert,  with  the  sun  rising  behind  us, 
and  Montello,  the  next  town,  115  miles  to 
the  west. 

That  day  stands  out  as  the  worst  expe 
rience  of  the  trip.  We  went  fifty  miles  with 
out  seeing  a  living  creature  except  jack-rab 
bits  and  one  coyote.  The  coyote  ran  across 
the  trail  and  stopped  fifty  feet  away,  watch 
ing  us  drive  by.  The  sand  was  deeper  and  the 
chuck-holes,  even  with  the  most  careful  driv 
ing,  seemed  to  rack  the  car  to  pieces.  If  we 
had  had  an  accident,  the  outlook  would  have 
been  decidedly  vague  for  us.  Not  a  car  or  a 
telegraph  pole  in  sight.  By  ten  o'clock  that 
morning  the  sun  scorched  our  skin  through 
our  clothing.  But  we  had  one  good  laugh. 
Over  a  deep  chuck-hole  there  had  been  built 
a  stone  bridge.  On  one  end,  in  large  black  let 
ters,  was  "San  Francisco"  (the  first  sign  we 
had  seen  with  that  welcome  name)  and  on 
the  other  end  was  "New  York" !  The  incon- 


NEVADA  AND  THE  DESERT  123 

gruity  struck  us  as  being  so  absurd  that  we 
roared  with  laughter.  Here  in  this  God-for 
saken  desert,  a  "thousand  miles  from  any 
where,"  to  see  that  sign !  It  took  some  joker 
to  conceive  of  that. 

By  noon  we  were  in  sight  of  the  railroad, 
feeling  as  if  we  had  found  a  long-lost  friend. 
A  freight  station,  some  oil-tanks,  a  few  shan 
ties,  and  a  lodging-house  for  the  men,  where 
we  got  some  food — that  was  all.  We  filled  up 
with  water,  and  on  we  went.  A  wind  had 
come  up  and  the  sand  blew  in  eddies,  almost 
blinding  us.  The  Nevada  roads  were  no  im 
provement  on  Idaho,  and  the  trail  was  oblit 
erated  many  times  by  the  swirling  sand,  mak 
ing  the  going  almost  impossible.  Before 
reaching  Montello,  a  real  desert  sandstorm 
so  covered  us  with  sand  that  the  car  looked 
white ;  our  clothes  and  our  eyes  and  ears  were 
full  of  it.  We  thought  the  top  was  coming  off, 
or  the  car  would  turn  over,  and  it  was  diffi 
cult  to  see  the  road,  much  less  to  keep  in  the 
trail.  By  crawling,  we  reached  the  town  and 
stopped  in  front  of  the  first  building  and  got 
out.  We  were  blown  off  our  feet.  We  stag 
gered  and  waded  through  the  sand,  hardly 
seeing  where  we  were  going,  until  we  reached 


124          IT   MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

a  door;  then  we  were  blown  in!  After  we  re 
covered  our  breath  and  had  shaken  off  a  lit 
tle  of  the  sand,  we  watched  the  storm,  which 
by  this  time  was  a  howling  gale  and  the  sand 
so  dense  that  you  could  hardly  see  fifty  feet. 

"Just  suppose  this  had  happened  out 
there?"  pointing  back  of  us. 

"Don't  think  of  it.  Come  and  get  some  ice 


cream/3 


I  had  not  noticed  that  we  were  in  a  small 
cafe,  with  drinks,  ice  cream  and  cakes,  etc., 
for  sale.  The  ice  cream  washed  down  the  sand 
and  cooled  our  dry  throats.  A  nice  little 
woman  ran  the  place,  and  she  gave  us  this 
information:  There  was  a  Southern  Pacific 
railroad  hotel  in  the  town,  but,  owing  to  hun 
dreds  of  men  being  idle  on  account  of  the 
strike,  the  place  was  full,  and  it  was  the  only 
place  to  get  lodgings.  It  was  a  hundred  miles 
and  more  to  Elko,  where  the  next  hotel  could 
be  reached.  We  inquired  if  the  way  to  that 
town  was  as  bad  as  the  roads  we  had  come 
over  that  day.  "Worse,"  was  the  reply;  "you 
are  foolish  to  attempt  it." 

As  soon  as  the  storm  let  up  we  went  across 
to  the  hotel,  only  to  be  told  that  there  was 
not  an  empty  bed  or  a  cot.  We  canvassed  the 


NEVADA  AND  THE  DESERT  125 

town  with  the  same  result.  So  there  we  were, 
worn  out,  dirty,  hungry,  and  feeling  "all  in," 
with  the  cheerful  prospect  of  sleeping  on  a 
pile  of  sand  in  the  car  or  trying  to  drive 
across  more  than  a  hundred  miles  of  desert 
to  find  a  bed  that  night.  Here  is  where  I 
"struck." 

"I  am  not  going  another  mile,"  I  declared, 
with  a  finality  in  my  voice  that  spoke  vol 
umes. 

"What  do  you  wish  to  do?"  asked  a  weary 
husband. 

"Ship  the  car  to  Reno,  and  take  the  train." 

Our  watches  said  five  o'clock,  and  the 
Overland  Limited  was  due  at  6:15  P.  M.  Hus 
band  hunted  up  the  freight  agent.  "Oh,  yes, 
you  can  ship  the  car;  but—"  The  first  "but" 
was  that  the  car  was  too  large  to  get  through 
the  freight-shed  door.  We  must  leave  it  on 
the  platform  or  in  a  garage  until  an  "auto 
mobile  car"  came  through  Montello,  and  that 
might  not  be  for  several  days.  Besides,  the 
agent  said  he  could  not  give  us  a  bill  of  lad 
ing  if  the  car  was  not  in  the  shed.  It  was  out 
of  the  question  to  leave  it  on  the  platform, 
and  to  put  it  in  a  strange  garage,  with  no  one 
responsible  for  it,  was  taking  a  long  chance 


126          IT   MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

that  we  might  never  see  it  again,  or  that  it 
would  be  used  or  damaged  or  detained  in 
definitely.  Here  friend  husband  asserted  him 
self. 

"I  am  not  going  to  leave  that  car  here  un 
less  it  is  locked  up  in  the  freight-shed  and  I 
have  the  receipt  for  it.  You  take  the  train 
and  I  will  drive  the  car  to  Reno." 

"What !  let  you  go  on  alone,  as  tired  as  you 
are?  Nothing  doing!  Mr.  T.  G.  M.,  the  car  is 
going  to  be  shipped,  and  we  are  going  on 
that  6:15  train."  I  admit  that  my  language 
was  not  very  elegant;  neither  was  the  place 
nor  my  feelings. 

"If  that  is  the  situation,  then  the  car  goes 
into  that  shed,"  he  said. 

"It  can't  be  done,"  said  the  agent.  "We 
have  tried  to  get  Cadillacs  and  other  large 
cars  in  there  before.  If  you  get  your  car  in 
there,  I'll  eat  it!" 

"What  about  time?"  we  inquired  of  the 
agent.  He  informed  us  that  we  must  set  our 
watches  back  an  hour  at  Montello ;  so  we  had 
over  an  hour,  and  the  train  was  marked  up 
"late."  For  the  next  hour  my  husband  worked 
over  that  car,  backing  a  few  inches,  going 
forward  a  bit,  turning  and  twisting  on  the 


NEVADA  AND  THE  DESERT  127 

narrow  platform;  but  the  car  was  still  diag 
onally  across  the  doorway.  Two  men  pitched 
in  and  helped.  An  inspiration! — he  poured 
black  oil  on  the  floor  under  the  rear  wheels 
and  then  tried  to  slide  the  wheels  over.  That 
would  have  worked  if  the  floor  had  not  been 
so  rough.  Another  inspiration! — he  jacked 
up  the  wheels  and  gave  the  car  another 
shove.  Over  it  went,  with  both  rear  wheels 
inside  the  door!  Then  he  backed  the  car  into 
the  shed  as  neat  as  a  whistle.  It  all  sounds 
like  a  perfectly  simple  job.  Try  it  some  time 
in  your  leisure  hours.  The  freight  agent  took 
off  his  hat  in  admiration.  "Didn't  believe  it 
could  be  done/'  he  said,  looking  at  me  with  a 
grin. 

It  cost  $3.85  per  hundred  pounds  and  $5.73 
war-tax  to  ship  the  car  to  Reno  (or  to  San 
Francisco — no  difference  in  the  rate  to  either 
place).  It  weighed,  including  four  spares  and 
other  equipment,  4960  pounds,  and  the  bill 
was  $196.69. 

On  inquiring  about  reservations,  the  agent 
said:  "I  doubt  if  you  can  get  even  an  upper 
berth;  the  Limited  is  always  full.  Now  that 
the  strike  is  off,  it  is  sure  to  be  crowded." 

Would  he  wire? 


128          IT   MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

"No  use;  the  train  has  left  Ogden  hours 
ago." 

I  would  have  gladly  sat  up  all  night  in  the 
the  train  to  be  out  of  the  desert. 

In  another  hour  we  were  in  a  drawing- 
room,  scrubbed  and  brushed,  looking  less  like 
two  tramps  and  more  like  respectable  people. 
Unless  you  have  been  through  a  like  expe 
rience,  you  cannot  share  our  feelings,  as  we 
sat  down  to  a  perfectly  good,  clean,  whole 
some  meal  in  the  diner,  and  slept  in  clean 
linen  that  night.  I  am  glad  that  we  had  the 
experience  and  can  appreciate  that  phase  of 
Western  life.  I  am  equally  glad  that  we 
shipped  the  car,  which  reached  us  at  the 
California  border  a  week  later,  in  good  order 
and  still  white  with  sand. 

The  road  to  Reno,  after  leaving  the  desert 
country,  follows  the  oldest  transcontinental 
route  to  the  Coast — the  trail  of  the  early  pi 
oneers,  the  gold-seekers  of  '49.  For  miles  it 
follows  the  Humboldt  River,  through  Pali 
sade  Canyon,  past  the  thriving  town  of  Elko, 
Battle  Mountain,  and  Lovelock.  Reno,  the 
metropolis  of  Nevada,  is  the  seat  of  the  state 
university.  There  is  much  of  interest  to  see 
and  many  side  trips  to  the  mining  regions, 


NEVADA  AND  THE  DESERT  I2Q 

all  worth  while.  It  is  but  a  few  miles  from 
the  state  line  of  California,  where  the  motor 
ists'  troubles  are  ended,  for  from  here  to  San 
Francisco  the  roads  are  smooth  as  marble, 
with  no  dust,  and  the  signs  read  "Smile  at 
Miles" — "Miles  of  Smiles" — our  welcome  to 
California,  the  beautiful  land  of  sunshine  and 
flowers,  of  which  so  much  has  been  said  in 
song  and  story  and  the  half  can  never  be 
told. 

"Why  do  all  the  people  have  the  tops  of 
their  cars  up?" 

"Why?  Because  the  sun  always  shines." 
And  we  were  soon  to  enjoy  the  glad  sun 
shine  that  makes  you  feel  young  and  happy, 
with  a  joy  in  living  like  that  experienced  in 
the  Riviera. 


XIV 

THE  END  OF  THE  ROAD 

JJEYOND  Reno  the  ascent  of  the  Sierra  Neva 
da  begins,  and  you  pass  Lake  Tahoe,  six 
thousand  feet  high,  the  most  delightful  sum 
mer-resort  region  in  America.  The  Lincoln 
Highway  joins  the  other  routes  here,  and  is 
really  a  highway,  making  a  glorious  finish  in 
Lincoln  Park,  San  Francisco.  One  of  the  fin 
est  views  is  the  mighty  canyon  of  the  Ameri 
can  River,  with  the  timbered  gorge  and  the 
rushing  stream  two  thousand  feet  below. 
You  are  held  spellbound  by  the  scenery,  as 
you  descend  the  western  slope  to  Sacramen 
to,  the  capital  of  California,  125  miles  from 
San  Francisco. 

The  city  of  Sacramento  is  beautifully  situ 
ated  on  the  river  of  the  same  name,  and  has 
the  distinction  of  being  the  first  white  settle 
ment  in  interior  California.  The  old  fort  built 
by  John  A.  Sutter  for  protection  against  the 
Indians  is  kept  as  a  museum  of  early-day 
relics.  It  was  an  employee  of  General  Sutter 
who  first  discovered  gold  in  California,  and 


THE  END  OF  THE  ROAD 

the  first  nugget  was  tested  and  its  value  de 
termined  inside  this  old  adobe  fort. 

The  capitol  building,  a  classic  structure,  is 
situated  in  a  park  of  thirty-four  acres  of  won 
derful  trees  and  shrubs,  brought  from  every 
portion  of  the  world.  The  Crocker  Art  Gal 
lery  boasts  of  the  finest  collection  of  art  treas 
ures  belonging  to  any  municipality  west  of 
New  York.  The  ride  to  San  Francisco,  of  one 
night,  is  a  popular  trip  on  the  fine  large 
steamers  through  the  Sacramento  Valley, 
noted  for  its  vast  wealth  of  agriculture  and 
fruit. 

Stockton,  also,  is  an  interesting  city,  with 
its  eleven  public  parks.  Acacia,  orange,  um 
brella,  and  palm  trees  line  the  streets,  mak 
ing  the  city  a  veritable  park.  West  of  the 
city  are  the  largest  peatlands  in  the  United 
States,  on  ground  that  has  been  reclaimed  by 
means  of  levees.  The  fields  of  grain  and  alfal 
fa  are  equal  to  any  in  the  states  we  had  visit 
ed.  With  four  hundred  miles  of  navigable  wa 
terways,  transportation  facilities  are  excep 
tional,  and  it  is  small  wonder  these  valleys 
of  the  Sacramento  and  the  San  Joaquin  are 
the  banner  "growing  section"  of  the  state. 
It  was  like  driving  through  a  private  estate 


132          IT   MIGHT   HAVE   BEEN  WORSE 

all  the  way  to  Oakland,  where  our  first  view 
of  glorious  San  Francisco  harbor  greeted  us. 

Oakland  and  Berkeley,  "the  bedrooms"  of 
San  Francisco  (as  a  prominent  banker  ex 
plained  to  us),  are  on  the  east  shores  of  the 
bay.  On  the  front  of  the  City  Hall  in  Oak 
land  (which,  by  the  way,  we  were  told  is  the 
tallest  building  in  California)  was  the  sign, 
typical  of  these  open-hearted  people,  "How 
dy,  Boys!"  (to  the  returning  soldiers)  in  place 
of  the  proverbial  "Welcome." 

Oakland  is  a  large,  rapidly  growing  city, 
with  its  fine  two-million-dollar  Hotel  Oak 
land  occupying  an  entire  block.  The  Munici 
pal  Auditorium,  seating  thirteen  thousand 
people,  is  near  the  shores  of  Lake  Merritt,  in 
the  City  Park.  It  is  a  great  railway  center, 
the  terminus  of  the  Southern  Pacific,  Santa 
Fe,  and  Western  Pacific  lines.  From  here  you 
take  the  ferry  to  San  Francisco. 

Berkeley  is  so  near  that  we  did  not  realize 
that  we  were  not  in  Oakland.  Days  can  be 
thoroughly  enjoyed  spent  here  at  the  Uni 
versity  of  California,  the  second  largest  edu 
cational  institution  in  the  world,  command 
ing  a  view  of  the  Golden  Gate,  the  bay,  and 
San  Francisco.  Early  in  the  eighteenth  cen- 


THE  END  OF  THE  ROAD  133 

tury,  Bishop  George  Berkeley  of  Cloyne,  Ire 
land,  came  to  America  to  establish  colleges. 
In  recognition  of  his  devotion  to  the  cause  of 
learning,  this  city  was  named  for  him.  His 
prophetic  words,  "Westward  the  course  of 
empire  takes  its  way,"  have  been  justified 
and  realized  in  California.  On  the  university 
campus,  the  Sather  Campanile  towers  above 
all  the  other  buildings  at  a  height  of  over 
three  hundred  feet. 

The  most  distinctive  feature  of  the  univer 
sity  is  the  Greek  Theater,  in  a  hollow  of  the 
hills,  planned  on  lines  similar  to  those  of  the 
ancient  theater  at  Epidaurus.  The  equable 
climate  makes  it  possible  to  hold  outdoor 
performances  at  any  season  of  the  year.  We 
were  told  that  ten  thousand  people  could  be 
seated  comfortably.  "Every  artist  who  visits 
the  Coast  aspires  to  appear  in  our  Greek 
Theater,"  said  our  informant,  and  added  with 
pride,  "Sarah  Bernhardt,  Nordica,  Tetraz- 
zini,  Gadski,  Schumann-Heink,  and  Josef 
Hofmann  have  all  been  here — yes,  and  'Big 
Bill'  Taft  too."  Since  then,  President  Wilson 
addressed  a  capacity  audience  here. 

As  we  knew  that  we  should  visit  both  of 
these  cities  many  times,  we  drove  to  the 


134          IT   MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

wharf  and  boarded  a  ferry-boat  holding  sev 
enty-five  cars,  which  would  land  us  at  our 
destination,  San  Francisco.  While  crossing 
the  harbor,  which  is  seventy-five  miles  long 
and  in  places  fifteen  miles  wide,  almost  sur 
rounded  by  high  peaks,  let  me  try  to  picture 
to  you  the  scene  that  greeted  our  eager  eyes. 
It  was  about  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening. 
The  rays  of  the  setting  sun  made  a  glow  over 
the  water  and  the  distant  city,  touching  the 
tops  of  the  hills  with  an  artist  hand.  To  the 
northwest,  crowning  the  scene  like  a  giant 
sentinel,  was  Mt.  Tamalpais.  What  Fuji 
yama  is  to  the  people  of  Japan,  Mt.  Tamal 
pais  is,  in  a  less  oriental  way,  to  the  Califor- 
nians.  Whether  you  see  it  at  sunrise  or  sun 
set,  or  standing  out  in  bold  relief  against  the 
noonday  sky,  or  with  the  moon  silvering  its 
summit,  or  wrapped  in  a  mist  of  clouds,  it  is 
a  glorious  sight,  a  never-to-be-forgotten  pic 
ture.  Below  this  summit  is  the  dense  wilder 
ness  of  the  Muir  Woods,  named  in  honor  of 
John  Muir,  the  celebrated  California  natural 
ist,  with  295  acres  of  towering  redwood  trees, 
the  famous  Sequoia  sempervirens,  many  attain 
ing  two  hundred  feet  in  height. 

Back  of  the  city  are  the  Twin  Peaks,  with 


THE  END  OF  THE  ROAD  135 

a  boulevard  encircling  their  heights,  looking 
down  on  the  harbor,  alive  with  ships  from 
every  land — from  the  islands  of  the  South 
Seas,  the  Mexican  West  Coast,  China,  Japan, 
Siberia,  tropic  America,  British  Columbia, 
Australasia,  and  our  own  dependencies  of 
Alaska,  Hawaii,  and  the  Philippines — dressed 
with  the  flags  of  every  country,  and  above 
them  all,  floating  in  its  majesty,  the  Stars 
and  Stripes,  in  honor  of  the  arrival  of  the  Pa 
cific  fleet,  which,  under  command  of  Admiral 
Rodman,  had  passed  through  the  Golden 
Gate  that  day  and  swung  at  anchor  in  the 
harbor — fifty  splendid  battleships  of  all  de 
scriptions,  ablaze  with  lights.  And  small 
craft,  from  high-powered  motor  launches  to 
fishing-boats,  "wind-jammers/'  or  old-time 
sailing-vessels,  ocean  liners,  great  freighters, 
transports,  and  tramps,  all  formed  a  part  of 
the  scene  along  the  Embarcadero,  where  lie 
at  anchor  the  ships  that  bear  the  merchan 
dise  and  products  of  the  world  to  this  gate 
way  of  the  West — over  seven  million  tons  of 
freight  yearly.  The  true  heroes  of  sea  fiction 
man  these  ships — rugged,  venturesome  men, 
with  whom  Stevenson,  Frank  Norris,  and 
Jack  London  have  peopled  their  books  and 


136          IT   MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

pictured  their  scenes  of  the  water-front  of  the 
city. 

We  were  landed  at  the  ferry  slip,  and  with 
a  sensation  never  to  be  forgotten  we  drove 
off  the  wharf  into  San  Francisco — "the  city 
loved  around  the  world,"  built  upon  hills 
overlooking  the  expanse  of  the  Pacific,  with 
a  cosmopolitan  throng  of  half  a  million  peo 
ple.  We  could  not  have  reached  here  at  a 
more  fortunate  or  auspicious  time.  San  Fran 
cisco  was  en  fete  in  honor  of  the  fleet.  Every 
street  and  building  was  festooned  with  flags, 
banners,  and  garlands  of  flowers ;  the  crowds 
of  people  were  carrying  flowers  and  waving 
flags.  Market  Street,  the  Broadway  of  the 
city,  was  arched  with  flowers,  and  suspended 
from  the  largest  arch  was  a  huge  floral  bell 
of  the  native  golden  poppies.  All  public  con 
veyances  and  even  private  cars  were  deco 
rated.  Searchlights  illuminated  the  scene. 
Bands  were  playing,  auto-horns  were  toot 
ing,  and  the  air  was  alive  with  excitement — 
joyous,  overbubbling  pleasure,  that  had  to 
find  a  vent  or  blow  up  the  place. 

All  of  the  hotels  were  packed.  The  St. 
Francis  looked  like  the  Waldorf  on  New 
Year's  Eve.  It  was  some  hours  before  we 


THE  END  OF  THE  ROAD  137 

found  refuge  in  the  Bellevue,  a  fine  residen 
tial  hotel  on  Geary  Street. 

The  next  day  the  Transcontinental  Gov 
ernment  Motor  Convoy  arrived,  which  add 
ed  to  the  celebration  that  lasted  a  week.  It 
had  come  over  the  Lincoln  Highway,  with 
every  conceivable  experience;  the  gallant 
young  officer  in  command,  Lieutenant- 
Colonel  Charles  McClure,  told  us  at  dinner 
the  next  evening  that  "Our  worst  experiences 
were  in  the  desert.  The  sand  was  so  deep 
and  the  trucks  were  so  heavy  that  at  times 
we  only  made  a  mile  an  hour.  When  one  got 
stuck,  the  men  cut  the  sagebrush  and  filled 
the  ruts,  and  then  we  were  able  to  crawl." 
The  city  gave  them  an  ovation,  and  "dined" 
them  as  well — and  doubtless  would  have 
liked  to  have  "wined"  them  also. 

The  next  day  we  were  in  the  thick  of  the 
whirl.  I  did  not  consider  our  trip  really  end 
ed  until  we  stood  on  the  sands  of  the  Pacific. 
We  motored  through  the  city,  out  to  the  for 
mer  Exposition  grounds/  where  but  a  few 
buildings  were  left  standing,  and  to  the  Pre 
sidio,  one  of  the  oldest  military  stations  in 
our  country,  embracing  an  area  of  1542  acres, 
overlooking  the  harbor.  The  formidable 


138          IT   MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

coast  defenses  make  San  Francisco  the  best- 
fortified  city  in  America.  Farther  to  the  east 
is  Fort  Mason,  the  residence  of  the  com 
manding  officer  of  the  Western  Division; 
also,  the  transport  docks,  the  only  ones 
owned  by  our  Government. 

Driving  through  Lincoln  Park,  we  entered 
Golden  Gate  Park,  covering  1013  acres,  with 
hundreds  of  varieties  of  plant  life  from  all 
parts  of  the  world,  artificial  lakes,  boule 
vards,  and  the  gorgeous  flowers  for  which 
California  is  famed.  We  could  hardly  realize 
that  at  one  time  this  was  but  a  desolate  ex 
panse  of  sand-hills.  Within  the  park  is  the 
stadium,  the  largest  athletic  field  of  its  kind 
in  America,  thirty  acres  in  all,  seating  sixty 
thousand  spectators.  The  park  extends  to  the 
Ocean  Beach  Boulevard,  on  the  edge  of  the 
sands,  where  the  breakers  come  bounding  in 
against  the  Seal  Rocks  and  the  high  promon 
tory  on  which  the  Cliff  House  stands.  The 
water  is  cold,  and  a  dangerous  undertow 
makes  bathing  unsafe,  but  the  shore  is  lined 
with  cars;  hundreds  of  people  and  children 
are  on  the  sand,  and  the  tame  sea-gulls  are 
walking  on  the  street  pavement  very  much 
like  chickens. 


THE  END  OF  THE  ROAD  139 

We  went  up  to  the  historic  Cliff  House,  the 
fourth  of  the  name  to  be  built  on  these  rocks. 
Since  1863,  the  millionaires  of  this  land  and 
the  famous  people  of  the  world  have  dined 
here,  watching  the  sea-lions  play  on  the  jag 
ged  reefs.  It  is  closed  now,  and  looks  as  de 
serted  as  any  of  the  tumble-down  old 
ings  which  surround  it. 

Along  the  Golden  Gate  shore  for  miles  are 
points  of  interest  and  charming  homes.  Many 
of  the  bungalows  are  surrounded  by  flowers 
of  every  description  and  color,  with  apparent 
ly  no  attempt  to  segregate  them.  All  shades 
of  pink,  reds,  and  purples  are  jumbled  to 
gether;  the  sides  of  the  houses  are  covered 
with  vines,  geraniums,  heliotrope,  fuchsias, 
and  endless  other  plants,  just  one  heavenly 
blotch  of  color!  These  little  gardens  seem  to 
say,  "Everything  will  grow  in  here;  it  may 
not  be  according  to  the  ethics  of  landscape 
gardening,  but  at  least  you  will  love  it" — and 
you  do!  We  were  especially  struck  with  the 
absence  of  large  grounds,  even  about  the 
more  pretentious  homes,  except,  of  course, 
out  of  the  city,  where  the  estates  are  the  last 
word  in  beauty  and  luxury.  There  is  a  joy- 
ousness  about  the  native  Californian  that  is  a 


I4O          IT   MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

revelation.  In  other  cities  the  people  were 
proud  of  the  homes,  or  the  buildings,  or  the 
commercial  life,  or  something  man-made; 
here  they  just  seem  to  glory  in  the  sunshine, 
the  climate,  the  scenery,  and  the  flora — in 
fact,  everything  God-given.  The  "joy  of  liv 
ing"  expresses  it — to  me,  at  least.  I  can  bet 
ter  understand  now  the  feeling  of  California 
friends  living  in  New  York.  "The  place  stifles 
me;  I  want  to  get  back  to  the  golden  sun 
shine."  Frankly,  I  used  to  think  it  a  pose.  I 
apologize ! 

Then,  people  have  time  here  to  be  polite. 
On  my  first  street-car  ride,  an  elderly  lady 
was  hurrying  to  get  off.  "Take  your  time, 
madam,"  said  the  polite  conductor,  and  as 
sisted  her  off.  In  New  York  it  would  be, 
"Step  lively  there;  step  lively!"  giving  her  a 
shove.  In  getting  on  a  car  my  heel  caught 
and  I  banged  my  knee.  The  conductor  said, 
"I  hope  you  didn't  hurt  yourself."  In  New 
York,  if  he  noticed  it  at  all,  the  conductor 
would  have  looked  to  see  if  I  had  injured  the 
car! 

"San  Francisco  has  only  one  drawback; 
'tis  hard  to  leave,"  said  Rudyard  Kipling. 
That  is  true.  I  would  like  to  speak  in  detail 


THE  END  OF  THE  ROAD  14! 

of  so  many  things — the  fine  hotels  and  mu 
nicipal  buildings,  the  beautiful  country  clubs 
and  golf  links;  the  old  Dolores  Mission  and 
the  churches;  the  Latin  Quarter,  Chinatown, 
and  Portsmouth  Square,  the  favorite  haunt 
of  Robert  Louis  Stevenson  when  a  resident 
here;  the  Fisherman's  Wharf,  where  the  net- 
menders  sit  at  their  task  with  stout  twine 
and  long  wooden  needles,  like  a  bit  of  "Little 
Italy";  of  the  fogs  that  keep  everything 
green  in  the  dry  season,  and  in  an  hour's 
time  disappear  as  if  by  magic,  leaving  the 
sunshine  to  cheer  you;  of  the  steep  streets 
and  houses  built  on  "stepladders";  of  Nob 
Hill,  with  its  one-time  sumptuous  homes, 
now  turned  into  clubs,  and  the  splendid  Fair 
mont  Hotel,  built  upon  the  Fair  estate.  Books 
have  been  written  on  the  restaurants  of  this 
city  —  French,  Italian,  Mexican,  Spanish, 
Greek,  and  Hungarian — varying  in  price  and 
in  character  of  cuisine,  with  many  high-class 
"after  theater"  cafes,  frequented  by  the  more 
exclusive  patrons.  Tait's  at  the  Beach  re 
sembles  the  Shelburne  at  Brighton  Beach  or 
Longvue  on  the  Hudson. 

Soon  after  our  arrival  came  the  visit  of  the 
President  and  his  party.  Politics  were  dis- 


142          IT  MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

carded.  He  was  the  guest  of  the  city.  San 
Francisco  certainly  spells  "hospitality,"  and 
proved  it.  The  decorations  left  from  the  wel 
come  to  the  Pacific  fleet  and  the  Motor  Con 
voy  were  still  beautiful,  but  more  were  add 
ed.  "A  mass  of  waving  flags"  about  describes 
it.  A  solid  wall  of  humanity  lined  the  streets, 
with  thousands  of  children  carrying  fresh 
flowers  and  banners.  Old  Sol,  in  all  his  glory, 
challenged  a  fog  to  mar  the  splendor  of  his 
welcome.  The  luncheon  of  sixteen  hundred 
women  at  the  famous  Palace  Hotel  spoke  of 
the  public  spirit  of  their  sex.  No  Eastern  city 
could  boast  of  a  more  attractive  gathering. 
It  was  an  interesting  sight  to  see  that  assem 
blage  sit  in  silence  for  over  an  hour,  listening 
to  a  man;  no  matter  what  their  private  opin 
ions  were,  they  wanted  to  hear  first-hand  the 
convictions  of  their  President — and  they  did, 
in  plain  Anglo-Saxon  terms.  But  I  have  di 
gressed,  and  left  the  reader  and  the  car  on 
the  Ocean  Drive. 

Yes,  this  was  indeed  "the  end  of  the  road," 
with  all  of  California  yet  to  see.  We  had  trav 
ersed  the  continent  from  the  Atlantic  to  the 
Pacific  without  an  accident  or  a  day's  illness, 
and  with  only  two  punctures !  We  look  back 


THE  END  OF  THE  ROAD  143 

on  comparatively  few  discomforts,  and  many, 
many  pleasures  and  thrilling  experiences, 
with  keen  satisfaction. 

Unless  you  really  love  to  motor,  take  the 
Overland  Limited.  If  you  want  to  see  your 
country,  to  get  a  little  of  the  self-centered, 
self-satisfied  Eastern  hide  rubbed  off,  to  ab 
sorb  a  little  of  the  fifty-seven  (thousand)  va 
rieties  of  people  and  customs,  and  the  alert, 
open-hearted,  big  atmosphere  of  the  West, 
then  try  a  motor  trip.  You  will  get  tired,  and 
your  bones  will  cry  aloud  for  a  rest  cure ;  but 
I  promise  you  one  thing — you  will  never  be 
bored!  No  two  days  were  the  same,  no  two 
views  were  similar,  no  two  cups  of  coffee  tast 
ed  alike.  In  time — in  some  time  to  come — the 
Lincoln  Highway  will  be  a  real  transconti 
nental  boulevard.  But  don't  wish  this  trip  on 
your  grandchildren!  The  average  motorist 
goes  over  five  thousand  miles  each  season, 
puttering  around  his  immediate  locality. 
Don't  make  a  "mental  hazard"  of  the  dis 
tance.  My  advice  to  timid  motorists  is,  "Go/' 

I  have  not  tried  to  give  a  detailed  descrip 
tion  of  anything  in  this  brief  narrative  of  our 
trip.  Just  glimpses  here  and  there  of  the  day's 
run,  which  may  stimulate  some  "weak  sister" 


144          IT   MIGHT   HAVE   BEEN  WORSE 

to  try  her  luck,  or  perchance  spur  the  mem 
ory  of  those  who  have  "gone  before  us." 

EXPENSES 

In  giving  a  table  of  our  expenses,  it  is  unim 
portant  to  give  in  detail  the  amount  of  the 
tips  to  porters  or  chambermaids,  or  to  state 
what  the  hotel  bill  was  in  each  place.  That 
depends  upon  the  individual — whether  you 
care  to  have  more  or  less  expensive  accom 
modations,  or  to  what  extent  you  care  to  in 
dulge  in  "extras." 

We  paid  (for  two)  from  three  to  six  dol 
lars  a  night  for  room  and  bath,  but  in  all 
cases  there  were  cheaper  ones  to  be  had.  The 
matter  of  restaurant  bills  is  also  a  personal 
item.  In  giving  the  cost  of  hotels,  I  have  in 
cluded  breakfast  and  dinner.  The  lunches  are 
listed  as  "extras."  The  garage  expenses 
included  storage  and  washing  the  car.  A 
night's  storage  varied  from  $1.50  in  the  East 
to  fifty  cents  in  the  West.  The  cost  of  wash 
ing  the  car  was  from  $1.00  to  $2.50,  also  de 
pending  on  the  locality.  Every  man  knows 
how  often  he  wants  his  car  cleaned.  One  New 
York  man  that  we  met  in  Minnesota  told  us 
that  his  car  had  not  been  washed  since  he 


THE  END  OF  THE  ROAD  145 

left.  It  looked  it !  This,  by  the  way,  was  the 
only  New  York  license  that  we  saw  west  of 
Chicago.  Rather  remarkable ! 

Our  total  mileage  was  4154  miles — thirty- 
three  running  days.  We  used  338  gallons  of 
gas  (21  to  40  cents),  $99.80;  sixty-one  quarts 
of  medium  oil  (15  to  35  cents),  $12.80;  ga 
rage,  storage  and  cleaning,  $28.50;  hotels  and 
boat  fares  for  seven  weeks  for  two,  $256;  ex 
tras  (laundry,  lunches,  postcards,  postage, 
fruit,  etc.),  $51.38;  tips,  $50;  expenses  in  Yel 
lowstone  Park  (including  entry  fee  for  car, 
$7.50),  $100;  work  on  car  in  service  stations 
(looking  over,  oiling,  etc.),  $64.24;  D.  &  C. 
boat  from  Cleveland  to  Detroit,  for  car,  $14.- 
50.  Total,  $677.22,  or  about  $13.50  a  day 
for  fifty  days  (for  two  people). 

Additional  expenses  were  adjustment  on 
new  tire  (never  used),  $35;  cost  of  shipping 
car  across  desert,  $196.69;  railroad  tickets 
(including  drawing-room,  $17.75),  $72.50. 
Total,  $304.19. 

We  might  eliminate  the  new  tire  adjust 
ment  of  $35,  and  if  we  had  driven  across  Ne 
vada  it  would  easily  have  been  two  hundred 
dollars  less,  but  we  should  doubtless  have 
had  repair  bills  to  balance  that  sum  and 


146          IT   MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE 

more.  Except  for  gas,  oil,  and  garage  expen 
ses,  the  rest  can  be  easily  adjusted,  according 
to  the  individual,  and  lessened  considerably. 
And  remember  that  includes  a  war-tax  on 
many  things. 

This  trip  can  be  taken  in  perfect  comfort 
by  two  people  for  thirteen  dollars  a  day,  in 
cluding  everything,  which  means  that  you 
are  traveling  as  well  as  living.  Not  bad,  con 
sidering  the  "H.  C.  of  L."  today! 


THE  END 


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